


Dragons of the Darkwave

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [1]
Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Betrayal, Comrades, Crime Drama, Gen, Honor, Loyalty, Organized Crime, Origins, Syndicate Era (Cowboy Bebop)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 64,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: Right from the beginning Mao glimpsed the dynamics between Spike and Vicious. Working together they were a ferocious, if volatile, team. But their partnership cracks under the strain of obsession as Vicious's ambitious streak takes off. A darker, early version of Spike. Direct line up to "Dragons of the Darkwave Part 2" Series/movie canon based. LV





	1. Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> As much as possible “Dragons of the Darkwave” will attempt to remain true to the feel of the canon of series and movie. This story, combined with “Dragons of the Darkwave Part 2”, toy with the working relationship of Spike and Vicious in the syndicate. This one explores their development from teenager, pre-initiates through their rise in the ranks as enforcers. The story of Spike's beloved Jericho. The origin of where Vicious gets the Colt Commander he leaves with Julia for Spike's kill shot … Part 2 explores the final year before Spike's exiling swan song, his time with Julia and precisely why he is left with no choice but to leave. The Red Dragons have never seen anything quite like these two—truly feared together. So what began to tear them apart ...

_ **Dragons of the Darkwave** _

 

_ **Session 1** _

 

Droplets spattered across the dojo floor, thick as rain. Hot, each drop shot with red. Alone. The youths each toed the line and delivered a venomous glare. Violet purple irises of one pulsed as they focused the pupil like a katana blade into the hostile umber gaze of the opponent.

 

Vicious fought to catch his breath. Strands of his cropped white hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The silk shirt clung to his heaving chest. Bruises and cuts blossomed with scarlet. He swallowed, wiping a hand across his mouth. Blood and saliva. His limbs burned and shook with fury.

 

Inches from the primed fists, Spike trembled just out of reach. He panted like a dog. The mass of scruffy green hair dripped with perspiration. His own torn shirt hung awkwardly on his lanky limbs. Barefoot, he shifted his toes. Not for the effect of a hit, just to keep himself from collapsing. Will, and sheer will alone prevented that. His fists were all that remained still. He sucked in a deep breath before rasping out, “It doesn't matter … what you try … I heard … what sensei said … ”

 

Vicious coughed, his foot catching his balance with a squeak on the mat. “ … I'm not deaf … and I'm not surrendering … so it looks like we keep going … until one of us … can't … ”

 

A slow smile parted Spike's fat lip. The bruise above his eye distorted the glare. “ … the door opens … when one of us submits … ” He pumped his fist, a rivulet of sweat dribbled out. “ … guess we'll be here for a while … ”

 

*

 

Sensei Leonard narrowed his eyes through the two-way mirror. His hand pressed against the door just shy of moving it. Hours ago he left his star pupils inside the dojo with the rules of the challenge. Far more hours than he imagined would pass for the fourteen year olds to still continue their sparing match. His skin crawled at the dark expression in their eyes. Exhaustion peeled back the veneer of their youthful bravado. He knew it would. But this is not what he had expected. Not at all like anything he had seen before.

 

Exhaustion exposed a savage determination in both boys that bore no equal—save for in one another.

 

Leonard swallowed and gestured over his shoulder, afraid to look away. His boss, capo Mao Yenrai, came to his side, his beady eyes widened. “Leonard, how long have you been testing them?”

 

“Too long. Mao, I know you instructed me not to intervene. But if this goes on much longer, their own bodies will shut down. See how slick the floor is with their sweat? They haven't stopped to drink, even though there is water.” Leonard gripped the door, the only barrier holding him back from entering. “This is very disturbing. Neither one will give even a bit. No mercy.”

 

Mao rubbed his chin. “Remarkable. I knew Vicious's determination from his training with you. But to see that Spike, who has only been in your instruction for two years, can rival his stamina. Tell me, what do you make of this?”

 

The sensei tore his gaze from his students, their limbs shuddered with each strike. “Caution. Great caution will be essential with these two. They are an immovable object and an unstoppable force. If focused in the same direction, I have no doubt they will become the Red Dragons most feared team.”

 

Mao's chest rose at this.

 

“But if separated, if their forces are brought into competition … they will destroy everything that stands between them and their goal.” Leonard heaved a sigh. “Let me go in and stop them. Trust me Mao, there is no point in letting this brawl go further. They will not submit to one another.”

 

Through the glass, Mao tracked the clumsy motions of the staggering boys. Each one fought more to remain standing now then throwing strikes at his opponent. He shook his head. “Remarkable. No other capo in all of the syndicate has initiates of this calibre. Somehow, I end up with two!”

 

“You may not find that a blessing down the road, my friend.” Leonard winced as Vicious shambled forward and lunged to grapple Spike, who only narrowly evaded the grasp. “You have awakened titans.”

 

“Your instructions were the door would only open when one of them surrendered, correct?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Let's see how far they can push it.”

 

*

 

Vicious threw an open hand toward Spike and snatched hold of his shirt. Unable to evade, Spike attempted to spin to tug his clothing free. All that achieved was to tear the sodden garment off his frame. Vicious stared at the shredded shirt in his hands.

 

Slowly it dawned on him. He twirled it in the air and made a rope.

 

Spike blinked, widening his stance as Vicious moved forward one jerky step at a time. The damp shirt spun into a frayed whip. The tip lashed out at Spike's ribs. Burning muscles protested, unable to respond in enough time to evade. The tip stung his bare ribs. But instead of wasting a breath on a scream, he reached down and grasped the end of it, yanking hard.

 

Not expecting this, Vicious stumbled forward like a dog on a leash. He recovered his footing only to realize that Spike darted around, pulling the whip up high. Vicious barely managed to wedge his hand in front of his neck. The fabric tightened, only by wriggling his fingers could he continue to breathe.

 

Spike snarled wordlessly, pulling up on the make-shift noose. Already his spent limbs quaked with the effort. His grip slipped on the damp fabric.

 

Vicious twisted his feet on the mat, fighting for purchase. He gripped the end of the lash with his free hand and slapped it around Spike's wrist. In a rapid series of twists he cut off the circulation until Spike's fingers turned blue, losing their tension.

 

Gravity pressed down. Knees came to the mat, slipping on the damp surface. The horizon of the room kilted as they slumped into the loosening trap. Bodies more bruised than not.

 

“... surrender … ” Wincing, Spike gripped his hand, the color slowly returning. His eyes rolled trying to fix on a point, any point, somewhere.

 

“... never … ” Vicious meant to say more but the racking cough stole his words.

 

Two hands pressed them apart. Leonard became a barrier. “Enough.”

 

“... Who … ” Spike began.

 

“ … won …?” Vicious finished.

 

“It was a stalemate. Now, drink.” He forced a water bottle into Vicious's open mouth. Mao did the same for Spike. In their arms, the muscles of both combatants refused to rest. They continued to fire even after both closed their eyes.

 

Mao stared hollowly at his newest hopefuls. Soon they would enter the ranks. Soon they would rise and serve the syndicate well. Their fight … had already begun.

 

 


	2. Session 2

_ **Session 2** _

 

From the bar stools to the booths, every seat at the Maroon Dirt bar held a body. Some patrons were forced to stand, their heads wreathed by the shifting veil of smoke. Round after round of glasses slid across the sticky wood surface, launched by the squad of bustling bartenders. The bitter tang of alcohol stung the nose of any patron conscious enough to know they were breathing. Maroon Dirt often had packed nights. But for some reason, tonight the scruffy dive bar had drawn an abundant crowd to its trough and game tables alike.

 

On a stool at the main bar, Vicious narrowed his eyes into the dim reflection shifting in his vodka glass. Everything about this place set him on edge. The rowdy patrons bustled behind his exposed back. The flickering of the neon décor waged war with the ballasts of the main lighting, as minimal as that was. The filth that clung to every surface he touched threatened to transfer itself onto his finely tailored clothing. They stocked no wine here and their selection of vodka was terrible. A place like this was not where he longed to be spending his evening.

 

And yet here he sat, leaning over his drink, fighting the urge to grasp his katana hilt every time a drunkard leered over him with some ludicrous joke about a teenager hanging in the bar. Stinking old men with nothing left but to drown their broken dreams in liquor. Men who voiced their opinions in competition with everyone else in the bar as though they knew far better than any other.

 

Fools. The lot of them.

 

He reached for his glass, lubricant to tolerate this painful excursion.

 

The glass exploded. Shards bounced off his palm as vodka splashed all over the counter and up onto his silk scarf. He slid his gaze down to discover—in place of his glass—a red striped pool ball.

 

Laughter, cheers, and more than a few groans broke out behind him. One voice stood out above all others, “Any who said I couldn't do it, hand over the woolongs.”

 

Vicious remained staring through his cropped strands of white hair down at the damp silk, an odd pattern blooming on the once solid-stained fabric. Over a minute passed before a familiar shadow fell over his shoulder.

 

Spike leaned an elbow against the counter, his hand loosely grasped a pool queue. He ran his free hand through his mop of scruffy green hair as he called to the bartender, “Yo, there's an eleven ball in this man's vodka. Get him another one, will yah toots? Oh, and a beer.” He paused, then added, “On me.”

 

“You're lucky you added that last remark.” Vicious glanced sideways at him.

 

“Heh. Couldn't resist that sure bet. You have no idea how much I just cleared on that shot.” He flashed a poker hand worth of woolong cards. “What can I say? It's been a lucrative night. Shit, I should do this more often.”

 

The bartender slid the two drinks across the counter. They made it no further than Spike and Vicious's waiting hands. Alcohol slopped over.

 

Vicious droned, “I can't begin to comprehend why you like this place.”

 

His partner turned a pointed gaze down at the slightly open shirt of the bartender and delivered an exaggerated leer. “Cause the view is reeeeal nice.”

 

She caught him and delivered an open palm slap to his cheek. “Asshole!”

 

Vicious smirked. “Spike, you have no self respect, letting a woman strike you like that.”

 

He just laughed and grinned lopsidedly. His hand rubbed the blooming handprint on his cheek. “Ehh, I just don't take myself as seriously as some do.” After a gulp of his beer he narrowed his eyes. “You know, like coming to a dive bar dressed to the nines? What's with that?”

 

“Simply because I have a sense of style and do not wish to look as though I belong stuck to the floor of this establishment.” Vicious leveled his gaze. His dark three-piece suit had become his signature attire in the last year. In stark contrast to the jeans and t-shirts that Spike wore beneath a baggy jacket.

 

Spike tugged on his t-shirt collar. “This was the best shirt I had lying on the floor this morning. It's still clean.”

 

There simply was no dignified reply for that. Vicious turned his full attention back to his drink. Spike made short work of his beer, slamming the glass down as he finished.

 

No sooner had he done this then a drunkard leaned over and ran a hand down Vicious silk scarf. “Nice.”

 

In a blur of a blade, a bloody line appeared on the man's hand. Vicious cooly remarked as he sheathed the dagger, “ _No one_ touches my property.”

 

Spike's half-lidded gaze acknowledged the exchange. He snapped a nod to the stunned man who hovered there with his mouth hanging open. Slowly, the man staggered away.

 

Spike sighed. “Right. Well, now that that's through.” A red poker chip appeared cocked on his thumb. He gave a nod the moment Vicious rolled his eyes toward the decisive little thing.

 

“This, again?”

 

“Fair's fair. The usual?”

 

Vicious flipped his hand. “Whatever.”

 

_Chinck!_ With a flick of his thumb the chip tumbled into the air. Spike leaned on the counter and watched the path as it narrowly missed the ceiling before falling dead center into his empty beer glass. There, among the foam, the bare side showed.

 

A wide smile spread on Spike's face. He slowly turned the smug grin to Vicious. “Aww, no crown for you this time.” He flipped the chip out into his palm, exposing the crown marking on the other side before flicking it and snatching it out of the air. “Heh. Looks like we do this  _my_ way.”

 

_Stinking luck of the fall_ , Vicious silently cursed his partners love of gambling.  _One day his luck will run out and that damn chip will land him in trouble up to that asinine smirk of his!_ Vicious shrugged and brushed off his silk scarf. It was already ruined. But still, he shifted off the stool.

 

“Hey, where you going? I was going to … ”

 

“I've waited for you to get your act together, you can wait for me to make myself presentable.”

 

“Seriously?” Spike chuckled. “It's not like this is a date.”

 

Vicious shut the restroom door. Finding himself alone, he hissed, “If he wasn't so damn good at this, I'd kill him myself.”

 

*

 

Spike eyed Vicious as he pressed his way through the crowd toward the restroom. “Seriously? It's not like this is a date.” The second the door closed, he snorted to himself, “Shit, it's only a bit of vodka. The guy's got a whole closet of silk scarves. I swear three of them are that same damn shade of lavender.”

 

He fetched a cigarette and his lighter from his jacket pocket. Taking a good drag from the cigarette he made certain the flame took before closing the metal lighter and tucking it back with practiced ease. Hell, at seventeen now it had been at least ten years since he'd picked up the habit. By now he figured he could do this in his sleep. Through half lidded eyes he scanned the bar in a single sweep. He loved spending time at Maroon Dirt where there was never a dull moment. The activity and constant threat of a fight raced his pulse, kept the fire burning in his veins. Alive. That's how he felt as his senses ran on high alert. This place sure was lively tonight. The air infected with the tension of something coming.

 

A smile of anticipation couldn't be prevented. He murmured to himself, “Come on, Vicious. Time to get this ball rolling.” The pool cue nudged against his arm. “Might as well.” He pushed his jacket sleeves up and meandered back over toward his pool table.

 

Across the bar a commotion caught his attention. He glanced up from calculating his next shot to spy a young women with blond hair trying to press through the crowd. Bronx, a regular brute at this pit of depravity, laid his meaty paw over her shoulder and forced her toward his lap. “Hey sweetheart, I got a seat for that tight ass of yours right here!”

 

She scowled at him, rolled out of grasp and then delivered a sharp heeled kick to his groin. “Oh yeah? Sorry, I'm not into dirty little pricks.”

 

Spike cringed as Bronx fell forward and slid right off his stool into a sobbing puddle on the floor. Bronx was a tough guy, as Spike well knew. On a dreary night he'd picked a fight with him just to pass the time. He'd let Bronx land a hit. It had been solid.

 

And this woman, whoa! He choked his hold on the cue and swallowed, his cigarette hanging on by surface tension alone as he watched her own the joint. Men parted ranks as she passed through, their once leers turning in guarded glances as her tightly clad body passed by. Damn, that outfit left little to the imagination. Spike measured her muscle tone and began to calculate the amount of damage she could deliver with each limb. He quivered at the thought. What he wouldn't give to have a round with her. What a rush! Such a rare sight. Most of the woman he ran across were nothing but sugar. They'd melt away with little substance. He'd never seen anything like her before. He hadn't realized how starved he was for something to sink his teeth into until this moment.

 

She walked along the bar, running her finger along the backs of the chairs. She craned her neck.

 

From the far side of the pool table, Spike's heart thrummed. Who was she? He had to know. One foot after another carried him back over. He ran a hand through his hair trying to make the rat's nest behave without success.

 

The door to the restroom opened. Vicious appeared, primped and proper. She smiled and pushed through the crowd, embracing him.

 

_Oh shit!_ Spike instinctively took a step back. Immediately the warning bells chimed even as his hand tightened on the cue. Timing had saved him from what could have been a sudden dead end. Making a move on Vicious's girl. Hanging his head, he glanced back at the table as though measuring a shot, praying no one had noted his abrupt interest. One word and he would be sleeping with one eye open for the next couple of months. 

 

“Julia, I told you I had something come up. Go, wait for me at your apartment.” Vicious released her toward the door.

 

She grabbed his lapel and smiled coyly. “We're always hanging around my place. I wanted a change of scene.”

 

“You shouldn't be here.”

 

“What's the matter?” Julia tugged on his silk scarf. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me in public?”

 

“No.” Vicious scoffed. “It's just that things tend to get messy.”

 

Spike sauntered over into the opening and leaned nonchalantly on the back of the empty chair. “Messy? That's putting it a little mild as far as we are concerned.”

 

Julia cocked her head. “Who is your friend, Vicious?”

 

Before Vicious could do more than roll his eyes, Spike delivered a lopsided grin and injected, “Wasn't aware that Vicious had anyone who could be considered a friend.”

 

She laughed into both hands.

 

“This,” Vicious scowled, “is my partner, Spike.”

 

Spike's eyebrows rose ever-so-slightly. “Damn Vicious, should I feel honored that you finally admitted that in public?” When Julia looked back in his direction, Spike had a pool ball rolling across his hand making it appear and disappear. She stared in amazement as he winked. “Like what you see? Or what you don't see?” He flashed an empty palm.

 

“How did you do that?”

 

Vicious reached into Spike's pocket and shoved the ball back into his hand. “It doesn't matter how he's doing that, there's something else he  _should_ be doing.”

 

Taking in the glare, Spike shifted back and narrowed his eyes. “I was waiting on you.” He reached into his back pocket and flipped a woolong card on the bar counter, pushing it toward the barkeeper who had slapped him earlier. “Yo, Molly, keep the change. This should cover it all.”

 

Molly's eyes widened. She took the card and retreated to the other end of the counter, staring at him the whole way.

 

Spike sauntered over to the pool table and leaned on the edge. He tossed the ball on the table. The ball spun in a tight circle until at last coming to a stop inches from the far rail. The cue ball trapped it between the rail, also inches away. Lining up the shot, a sly smile grew on his face. “Vicious, what is that saying about breaking a mirror?”

 

“Seven years bad luck.” Vicious moved in front of Julia. “I mean it. Go.”

 

Spike drew the cue back and called out, “Screwball in the corner pocket.”

 

_**CLACK!** _

 

For the first time this night, Vicious smiled at his partner's antics.

 

_**CLACK!** _

 


	3. Session 3

_ **Session 3** _

 

_**CLACK! CLACK! THUD!** _

 

Spike drove the cue down at a hard angle, launching the cue ball into a wicked drive that transferred the English into the target ball. In such a short distance, the target ball struck the rail driving it up and back over his shoulder with hardly a loss of energy. Spike watched the reflection in the huge mirror across the room. The same one he had been using to observe their mark for the last few hours. His ball sailed over the table where the man sat with his two goons. Right on target into the center of a mirror set in the rear of their corner booth.

 

_**CRASH!** _

 

The man curled into a panicked ball, shielding his face from the shower of glass. His own startled cries drowned out by the gurgled pleas of his useless guards. A few heartbeats passed before he dared to uncurl. He jerked back at the sight that greeted him, the color drained from his face in a single flood tide.

 

The goon to the rear of the booth slouched lifeless on one side, shards of mirror sticking out at odd angles from his flesh, the pool ball still spinning in the brim of his hat. The other goon had acquired a second smile across his throat, crimson in color and steadily dying his white shirt. Instincts told the mark he should bolt. But the moment he looked up he followed the blade of a bloodstained katana to the hand of a white haired man perched on the back of the booth, a chilling smile on his thin lips. And not only that, somehow a second man, this one with dark green hair, was seated opposite him, his legs stretched under the table to rest on the seat—blocking any chance of escape. One hand casually plucked peanuts from the dish in the center of the table. His other rested on the table, aiming the muzzle of the gun across the table.

 

“Hey, Barska.”

 

The lazy tone of the voice saying his name startled him out of his fugue, but he still couldn't look up from the cylinder of the gun.

 

“Yo, Barska. Eyes up here.” The gun flicked up in a sure gesture. “You can try and negotiate with my Beretta if you want, but she'll only have one answer for you. And I doubt you'd like it.”

 

Barska forced himself to look across the table at the two assailants. Not men, but … boys? Surely these two were not even adults yet. The one with the katana emanated a sadistic nature. He glanced away to the speaker slouching in the booth. The boy who had been shooting pool for the last few hours. His lazy-lidded gaze felt far less threatening; but still, there was the matter of the gun in his hand. He swallowed and tried to straighten up.

 

“That's better.” Spike cocked a grin as he flicked a few peanuts into his mouth. The cigarette shifted as he chewed. “You know, I don't think your buddy you were plannin' on meeting is showin' up tonight.”

 

“I …,” Barska glanced back and forth between the two. “I wouldn't continue screwing with me if I were you. I am a very influential man. And I am not here alone!”

 

“You are now.” Vicious shifted his sword an inch to the dispatched goons.

 

“No. You see, I have back-up outside.”

 

Spike barked a laugh. “Shit, that the best you can do? What a waste of time. I thought we had a challenging one for once. Oh hey.” He plucked the gun off one the goons. “A nicely maintained Colt Commander. I like my Beretta, but would you look at this? Still got a full clip. Spare pieces always come in handy. Do you think he'll mind if I take it? Nah, course not. He being dead and all. Gotta have a pulse to give a shit.” Spike slipped the Colt into his waist band. “Ok, now this gig has been worth the trouble.”

 

Sitting up straighter, Barska pounded the table. “One word from me and this place will be swarming!”

 

“With what?” Spike glanced around the bar. Everyone watched the corner like a stage. “Barska, thing is even if that were the truth—which it's not, we know, we've been watching you for a while—I doubt anyone came here tonight for any other reason than to see the floor show.” He lifted the gun muzzle. “Starring you. What can I say, word gets out. They like to watch us work.”

 

Barska lifted his hands. “I have no business with you two!”

 

Vicious twisted the katana in the air, letting a drop of blood slide onto the table. “We represent Mao Yenrai.”

 

“You?” Barska balked pointing first at Vicious, and then gawking at Spike. “You two are Red Dragons? Don't make me laugh.”

 

Spike reached over and placed a restraining finger atop Vicious's quivering blade. He shook his head before addressing Barska. “You missed your appointment with our capo. We're here to reschedule. And frankly, we really detest being reduced to secretaries. So let's be quick about this, pal.”

 

“I have no business with Mao Yenrai!” His tone paled a few shades more.

 

“Word is,” Spike blew out a ring of smoke, “you scheduled a meeting here with a certain no account TJ dealer. He was going to take our boss's merchandise off of Mars for you.”

 

“That's not true.”

 

A small box landed on the table. Vicious nudged it toward Barska while delivering a venomous smile. The moment he opened the box, Barska's skin tone shifted to a bright green and he grasped his mouth. He pawed to leave the booth, but Spike refused to move his long legs. His grin only grew wider as he gestured with the gun to stay in the booth.

 

“Take it you recognized the ring. Good. We figured you would. Vicious had a little chat with him earlier this afternoon. I believe they came to terms from the evidence. I'm not sure, since I wasn't there. I had my eyes on something else.” Spike pulled the spent cigarette from his lips and laughed. “Damn, you got stamina in the office. The way you ride your secretary I would bet you could last more than eight seconds on a bull.”

 

The only reply was an aborted gurgle.

 

Spike leaned forward, the gaze in his eyes intensifying. “Oh yes. These last few days have included some very entertaining stakeouts. But it's time we cut to the chase, as short as that ended up being. You owe Mao Yenrai some merchandise, and we're here to collect it. Now.”

 

Barska's stomach turned in violent knots. He couldn't even fidget under the steely gaze of these two—boys. He could barely even breathe.

 

“This is taking too long!” Vicious leaned forward, the tip of the katana grazing Barska's throat.

 

“Knock it off!” Spike slapped the blade away with the barrel of his gun. “I won the chip toss. We agreed to do this my way.”

 

Vicious glared at his partner. “There are other ways—”

 

“Yeah, but the biolock on the safe requires a pulse. I told you that after I broke into his office yesterday.” Spike snapped. “If you kill him now that leaves opening it much more difficult for me. Or do you want to deliver a large puddle of Purple Eye contaminated by glass shards? I got a plan, if your impatience doesn't botch it. I mean, we only need the pulse in one hand, right?” He rammed the muzzle of the gun into the center of Barska's left hand, splayed on the table.

 

“Wait! Please don't pull the trigger!” Sweat poured down his face. He cringed and tried to pull his hand free, but the pressure of the muzzle held him there. The bones in Barska's hand threatened to fracture. This kid was a lot stronger than he looked.

 

Spike glanced up, his finger loosened the grip. He narrowed one eye. “So, you're willing to negotiate after all?”

 

“Yes yes! Of course! Just take me back to the office and we'll get it. Right away. Now. Like you said earlier. This is all a misunderstanding.”

 

“Right.” Spike slowly withdrew the gun. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gum-sized wad of something with some wires in it. “A _misunderstanding_. Well, let's avoid any others shall we? A little insurance that this time you will honor your promise to the end. Hrm, where shall we put this?”

 

Vicious withdrew his sword and snatched the wad from Spike. “Stop being soft on this loser.” He stuffed it into Barska's throat and delivered a slap across the neck, forcing the swallow.

 

After Vicious released him, Barska clasped his throat and stared wide-eyed at the two.

 

Spike lifted an eyebrow to Vicious. “Well, that wasn't my idea on where to plant the C-4, but I admit that is rather effective.” He tucked his gun away and pulled out a remote detonator.

 

Barska's heart rate flew off the charts. He clawed at his belly. “Oh God! Oh no!”

 

“Don't run off, behave yourself, and I'll consider not pushing the button. Try anything and everyone will see what you had for breakfast. Move it, mincemeat.” Spike slid out of the booth. “Shit, the things a guy's gotta do to keep people on their schedules these days. No fuckin' respect.”

 

*

 

The safe door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Barska stepped back out of the way and wiped his clammy hand on his pants. Pushing past him, Vicious pulled out a case full of vials filled to the brim with Purple Eye. Spike leaned on the edge of the desk lighting a cigarette. He tossed the detonator into the air and caught it in an endless cycle as he watched with disinterest.

 

Using a meter, Vicious tested a random sampling of the vials. “Prime quality. The full shipment is here.”

 

“See?” Barska nodded. “On my word, it was all still here. Now, please. Give me my payment and you can go.”

 

“Payment?” Spike turned his lazy grin to Barska, the remote still in his hand. His finger snicked the button.

 

“No—ukkk!” Barska jerked and dropped to the floor.

 

“See?” Spike hopped off the desk and stepped over the body. “Told you that was enough C-4. We don't always have to leave everything covered in blood.”

 

Vicious drew his katana and slashed the Red Dragon into the man's cheek as Spike buried his face in a hand. Once finished, Vicious sheathed the sword to pick up the case and shoved it at Spike. “Fine. You wasted all that time instead of going with my plan. Now you can make the delivery in that piece of shit you dragged back here from Earth.”

 

“Piece of shit?” Spike blanched. “ _Swordfish_ is not a piece of shit! She's a well conditioned machine.”

 

“That thing hardly runs. It's a miracle you had it running long enough to get it on the ship for the journey back.” Vicious fixed his jacket. “You just won't face the facts that you'll be spending so much to keep that pile of scrap running to afford to get out of that dump you live in.”

 

Heat rose to Spike's face. “Yeah well, not everyone wants to live a stuffy high-rise! And she's more of a piece of shit then you have. At least I can take off whenever I like. You still have to rent a craft from the syndicate when you need one.”

 

Vicious shook his head. “See you, Spike.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Out, on my original plans for tonight. And because of you, I probably have to set foot back in that shit hole you nearly call your second home.” Vicious strode out the door leaving Spike with the heavy case.

 

Spike heaved a sigh and trudged out of the office, grumbling to himself. “Good thing I stowed the  _Swordfish_ nearby. Somehow I just knew he'd stick me with the last leg of this.” Reaching his hidden ship, he dropped the contents in the rear of the cockpit and climbed in. Tugging on his flight gloves he debated whether or not to crash Vicious's date out of spite. Mao had already waited for three more days for this shipment. It could wait til morning. 

 

He flicked the switches and ran through her pre-flight. The moment he turned the bulky key in the ignition she sputtered to life. “You're not a piece of shit, old girl. Some just don't see the value in things.” He heaved a sigh and opened a channel on the com. A moment later Mao's face lit up the screen. “Cargo recovered, Mao. I'm on my way.”

 

He smiled.  _“As I knew you two would. Was Barska cooperative?”_

 

“He came around with some persuasion. But after something he ate didn't agree with him he won't be making any more deals. Either under or over the table. The good news is I snagged his contact list from the office. Sending it to you. Time we cut out the middle man.”

 

“ _That's why I send my best team to deal with upstarts like him. You two always know how to send a message.”_ Mao brightened as the list appeared before him. _“Excellent. I may have some use for that monoracer of yours. Spike, I see an officer's jacket in your near future.”_

 

Spike shrugged. “Where do you want this? I'm about to take off, like to know where I am going.”

 

“ _The warehouse will be fine for now. Where's Vicious?”_

 

“Oh, he's just finishing up. I'm off to the warehouse.” Spike killed the screen and gunned the engines. The _Swordfish_ launched into the air in a twist of smoke.

 


	4. Session 4

_ **Session 4** _

 

The lights spilled into the elevator the moment Vicious entered the security code on the panel. Spike blinked and poked his head into the office, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

 

“Damn, I knew your apartment in the towers was some swanky upscale pad, but this place … ” He walked in as though entering a museum. His eyes struggled to capture every piece of elegance from the gilded moldings to the artwork on the walls. Taking up most of the side room was a large table with ample swivel chairs, all overstuffed. At the rear corner room with a solid wall of windows, an executive desk occupied the room with the latest array of tech. Vicious's office was easily twice the size of Spike's shoddy apartment. “How did you get this?”

 

Vicious strutted in and poured himself a shot of bourbon. He gestured for Spike to join him. The moment Spike's head tipped back in awe as he took in the Red Dragon's tower rising to the south of this office brought a faint smile to Vicious's face. “You see, _this_ is what you can afford when you don't throw your money away.”

 

Still staring up at the syndicate tower that ruled their lives, Spike replied distantly, “Hey, bullets and C-4 require cash.”

 

“A blade doesn't require much maintenance.”

 

“That's not why you favor it.” Spike glanced to the side. “I see the truth every time you smile with your blade twisting in an opponent. You relish the feel of their pulse ebbing.”

 

Vicious's smiled intensified. “I am not the only one. I've seen that same expression on you when you leave the gun where it belongs and use your real talent. You savor being in the thick of it. Driving a fast strike into a soft throat, feeling the windpipe collapse.”

 

He half lidded his eyes dismissively. “Ever since you left me to pull that delivery run for Mao, he's been using me and the _Swordfish_ because she's faster than any of the ISSP ships. Point is, I didn't come here to listen to your bullshit lecture about bad choices.”

 

“Soon you will see why this is so important. I'll need a place to command.”

 

“Command?” Spike's gaze shifted from the tower down to his partner. “Whoa, wait. What are you talking about? Commanding who?”

 

He inclined his chin to the syndicate building.

 

“A bit premature.” Plucking a cigarette out, Spike lit it and smirked. “Come on, two years after initiation? We're still fresh-meat lackeys, not even in the actual ranks yet. It'll be at least a few more years of grunt work.”

 

“Oh, we'll see about that.”

 

“Is that right?” Spike laughed. “Seriously, have you been shooting the merchandise? Vicious, there isn't a single teenage officer in the syndicate.”

 

“We should be officers already. Think about it. We have a perfect track record. We're already pulling jobs typically reserved for the lower ranked.”

 

“Granted, we're damn good at what we do, and even the Van have heard of us, but—”

 

“The Van.” Vicious hissed. “Those decrepit corpses sitting on their thrones have lost touch with this world. They haven't got a clue what they have, let alone what to do with it.”

 

The tension hung in the air between them as Spike eyed him, not even moving a muscle. “You know you just insulted our boss's bosses. Vicious, you just insulted the men who we serve … who determine if we live or die.”

 

“For now.” Vicious stared up at the heights. “Let them believe that for now. But they will not live forever. They cannot. And the syndicate will need rulers. Strong men who take action rather than moldering away in a gilded closet.”

 

Spike barely concealed his cringe. “Don't let anyone else hear you say that. I don't want to be ordered to shoot you for it.”

 

The chilling gaze that drifted toward Spike riveted him to the floor. Vicious approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one else will know. But they will see us rise. You and I. I can see it now, both of us taking the reigns and ruling all of Mars. No, beyond Mars! With our skills we'd be unstoppable. The syndicate is content with its measly piece of the market. They dream too small. We are the future. Right up there, on the top floor of that tower lies the gateway to our power.”

 

He tried to follow the gesture, but a longing pulled Spike's gaze beyond the tower, drifting to the far horizon beyond. “I'm not sure that the top floor is where I want to be. I mean, Tharsis is a great city. It's a huge improvement over the dead-end crater I was born in.” His head bowed a bit. “Truth is, five years ago when I first met Mao I didn't know all this lay beyond that crater. Hell, I didn't even know it _was_ a crater, never mind there was anything else out there. The last thing I want to do is cement myself in one place before I've seen more of what's through the gates. That's why I bought _Swordfish_.”

 

“What nonsense are you spewing?” Vicious cuffed Spike before he had a chance to evade it. “When did you get crippled by sentimentality? I'm offering you a pathway straight to the top!”

 

“It's not yours to offer. Besides, the syndicate's widespread, there is so much more than Tharsis.”

 

Grabbing Spike's collar, Vicious threw him against the desk. “When Mao pledged us into the syndicate you swore an oath to me!”

 

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Yah! And we're the only two ever to take that specific one! Did you know that? Did sensei Leonard tell you that? Never in the history of the syndicate had they ever sworn in two initiates at the same time. Never did they pledge to protect one another.”

 

“If you honor our oath, then you **will** support me in this.”

 

Spike pried the fingers loose and shrugged out of the grip. “If you're saying what I think you are, you're talking about a coup. Mao would likely be killed in the process. Did you consider that? Where are these insane ideas coming from?”

 

“I am destined for this. I can feel it.” Vicious smiled, the light glinting in his eyes.

 

The poker chip appeared in Spike's hand. Without a word he flicked it in the air, locking a challenging glare on Vicious. The chip tumbled in the air and landed on the desk, crown side down.

 

Spike exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

 

The calm lasted no longer than a moment as Vicious dove for the offensive piece of plastic. A framed portrait of the two of them, shot after their initiation at age fifteen, slid off the surface onto the floor. “That damn chip of yours!”

 

Snatching the chip, Spike vaulted out the way. He landed in a tight guard watching every motion Vicious made. “Hold to the oath! Remember, we decided this was the only way it would work! Vicious, I won't turn on you—but I also won't subvert the syndicate we serve without good reason. This is your impatience talking. There is no rush. We'll gain rank, I'm fairly certain it will be soon with the rumors. Our performance speaks for itself. Patience.”

 

Vicious jabbed a finger at the syndicate tower. “Why should we wait for what we can take for ourselves.”

 

Spike straightened up and dropped his guard. “Because our oath is to be loyal. A loyal dog doesn't turn on his master.”

 

“A dog. That's all you are. A mangy cur content to receive the scraps when he could have the whole feast.” Vicious snorted. “Get out! I never should have showed you this.”

 

Pausing in the open elevator door, Spike leaned against the frame, his gaze heavy. “I shouldn't've come.”

 


	5. Session 5

_ **Session 5** _

 

The cue ball lay in the middle of the two shots. A straight line into the four, corner pocket. Or a ricochet off the right rail, then rear rail, colliding with the eleven and sending it into the left side pocket. Spike made the subtle shift between the two shots half a dozen times. A neglected whiskey waited on the rail, ripples of his motion captured and reflected on the surface. Maroon Dirt was quieter tonight, the jazz from the jukebox covered idle conversations. A blessing and a bane for Spike, who longed to be lost in the crowd.

 

A simple choice. Two elementary plays, and yet he froze, unable to decide. Hours ago he'd finished his third game of the night. One more game than typical for the patrons to make the connection of who he was and refuse to risk their cash in a certain loss to a shark. He hardly blamed them. What's the point even tossing in a lot with no possibility of any gain?

 

He glanced at the other pool tables where the handful of mediocre players ribbed one another over their clumsy shots. The cigarette hung in the corner of his down-turned lips. _Damn, it's lonely at the top. Nights like these I actually miss the simple life, hustling in Uncle Joe's pool hall._

 

“Spike, trying to move the balls with your mind or something?”

 

Molly's voice crashed his wayward train of thought. He stood up and discarded the spent cigarette on the floor, crushing it. He didn't want to burn his favorite haunt down. “Now that would be a helluva trick shot.”

 

She cast a glare at the bare spot on the corner wall, a clean rectangle outlined by grime. “I think Veronica has had enough of your trick shots. Can't believe for all the damage you've caused in her bar that she doesn't throw your ass out of here, permanently.”

 

He pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it before answering. “Relax. The only thing I'm killing tonight is time.”

 

Her brows knit. “Something's bothering you.”

 

“Heh, that's a piece of nonsense.”

 

She shifted her gaze to the untouched drink, then back to Spike.

 

He followed the gesture and sighed. “Alright. So it's been a rough week and I'm a bit out of sorts. Not like that's a big deal. Besides, what do you care?”

 

“I may not like your mouth sometimes, but I'm a bartender. I'm used to grunts like you coming in and bending my ear.”

 

Spike smirked and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “Well, I ain't the spilling type so you're wasting your time.” He leaned over the table and struck the cue ball, hard. It hopped over the pack and slammed into the eight ball, sending it on a wild spin. Spike froze. The eight was always the _last_ ball he sunk, once the table was clear. The wayward ball continued on its frenzied path across the table striking other balls along the way before teetering on the brink …

 

_**CLACK!** _

 

… it fell into the pocket right beside Spike's hovering hand.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

Molly clicked her tongue. “I'll be behind the bar if you change your mind.”

 

_Shit! I'm losing it. What the hell is wrong with me?_

 

Vicious's words from the other night answered his question.  _“Why should we wait for what we can take for ourselves.”_ The same words he had been trying to get out of his head since he had heard them. Something nagged him about the light in his partner's eyes. Something had been terribly wrong. Often enough on the dojo Spike had stared across the line and seen the iron-forged determination in Vicious's eyes. Over those years it had  **never** been as intense as last night. 

 

He tossed the pool cue onto the table and rammed his hands into his pockets. Without a word he turned to the door. Molly's voice chased him, “Spike, come here, will you? Spike!”

 

Ducking his head in his jacket, he ignored her pleas and shoved the door open with his elbow. The blast of night air slapped his face. Of all the nights for a storm. His usual haunt now spoiled left Spike to wander the streets of Tharsis hounded by his thoughts. Going home was not an option. He'd already spent one restless night staring out the cracked windowpanes. His hand strayed to the phone in his pocket. Mao should know. Mao might know what to do.

 

But … his fingers loosened their grip. Telling him felt like a betrayal. Even though Mao was their capo, a lot of fuss could be made of a moment's bravado. That's all it was, bravado. The same infectious spirit that maimed so many initiates chances of rising into the ranks. Fresh meat for the grinder. The same reason that there were no officers his age.

 

Spike hung his head. “We're not ready yet.” His fingers brushed against the poker chip. He pulled it out of his pocket and let it dance across his knuckles without watching, back and forth.

 

A distant rumble of thunder echoed through the narrow alleyways as he wandered. Bits of trash tossed into the air by the wind gusts spiraled between the mismatched buildings. Fat drops of rain splattered down, first slowly before turning into a steady flow. Even the filthiest surface became reflective, rays of light split off into the darkness.

 

A loud crash broke the static. Spike stiffened in the direction of the upcoming alley. Shadows danced across the wall, framed by a street lamp. A shout cut short. The distinctive sound of a blade striking bone. The thin shadow of the raised katana against the wall.

 

Spike's heart thrashed in his rib cage. “Vicious!”

 

It seemed ludicrous, he knew, to leap to that conclusion. Vicious wasn't the only one in Tharsis with a blade. The angle of the strike betrayed him. Spike darted toward the alley, skidding around the corner so fast that he rebounded off a crumbling brick wall to keep from colliding with it.

 

A bolt of lightning rent the sky, banishing the faint wash of the street lamp. The dark stream flowing along the gutter beneath Spike's shoes gleamed red. In the brief flash he counted at least a handful of bodies—well, parts of them. Nothing moved except for the sheets of rain.

 

Spike held his breath. His honed instincts overwhelming him as they read into the void of information. He glanced everywhere for a sign of white hair. A sign he hoped not to find among the carnage. The twitch of a hand caught his attention. He knelt down to a man practically breathing his own blood. Bleeding lips pulsed, attempting to speak, a mere pucker. Unfocused eyes stared over Spike's shoulder.

 

“Yo, pal. You kinda look like you need a doctor.” Spike forced a tense laugh.

 

Another bolt of lightning threw a shadow onto the crumbling brick wall. Spike hastily rolled out of the way as the katana sunk into the man's skull from an angle that would have been through his own shoulder. His breath caught in his chest. Vicious yanked his blade free, his violet eyes wide and bloodshot. The pupils pulsed with each rapid beat of his heart.

 

“Oh fuck!” Spike barely got his guard up in time to deflect the blade in a hard sideswipe. He was forced to tuck and roll out of the way to avoid the devastating follow-through. He landed in a crouch beside a shattered vial. Purple Eye. “Vicious! What are you doing? It's me!”

 

The venom in Vicious's eyes focused into tiny pinpricks, boring into Spike—the only thing with a pulse in the alley. He ground his grip on the hilt of the katana. The rain funneled down the blade carrying threads of crimson along the gleaming edge. Rivulets twisted over his fingers, as though the sword itself bled in his suffocating grip.

 

Spike shifted his weight to his rear leg. Retreat was the only option. Darting into that blade would be suicide. His only chance was to evade any serious injury until the drug crashed out of Vicious's system. How much faster had the drug rendered his perception? How long ago had he taken it? “Snap out of it, partner! I don't want to hurt you.”

 

Vicious laughed. A vile grin parted his lips. With no warning he launched himself, blade first.

 

A cursory glance over his shoulder was all Spike had time for. He rolled back over his shoulder and used the momentum to vault over a make-shift ramp of sheet metal. The katana screamed as it scraped down the other side. The welcome squeak of Vicious's shoes losing traction gave Spike a fleeting moment of hope. He scrambled into the open, snatching a length of metal pipe along the way. He couldn't pull his gun, not this time.

 

Vicious closed the distance and delivered a swift kick, fouling Spike's run and sending him into a awkward, mud-splashing cartwheel. Flailing onto his back, Spike braced the pipe across his body, intercepting the blade's strike and pushing it up. “Vicious!” he grunted under the force of the blow, “Open you eyes!”

 

“Oh, I **have** opened my eyes.” He stood over Spike's prone body, glaring down the length of his katana. “That's precisely what happens when you take what you need to get what you want.”

 

Holding the pipe as a shield, Spike shifted ever so slightly. “How long! How long have you been stealing the Purple Eye?”

 

“You should feel the rush.” Vicious's eyes widened. Twin violet irises suspended in a pool of red-shot white. In the middle, the tiny black pupils nearly drowned. Spike counted the rapid beat of Vicious's heart as he stared into the pinprick voids. “So much power! I can sense your movement before your brain decides to take the action. My eyes are wide open. Wider than any training that no account sensei tried to trickle into us!”

 

Spike stiffened.  _He knows who I am!_ His eyes flicked to the katana. One committed drive and that blade would end Spike's life. Intentionally.

 

Only a fool would leave that as a chance. Spike coiled his body rapidly, like a spring and kicked the pipe into the katana, deflecting it out of immediate threat. While Vicious cursed and recovered his lost balance, Spike scrambled to his feet and braced himself for the coming assault.

 

And come it did. The rain of blows rang out, echoing in the alley as blade met steel pipe. The weapons slashed through the torrential downpour. Feet lost vital traction in the debris strewn field. Spike concentrated on one thing, just keeping that wild blade from getting past his guard. That took everything he had. All he could do was keep Vicious's drug-induced hysteria trained on him no matter the cost. His eyes narrowed as he delivered a hard strike, just barely keeping the katana from slicing his neck.

 

Adrenaline throbbed through Spike's veins, feeding a rush of its own. The kiss of the thrill he courted so often. The thrill of death that reaffirmed life!

 

Vicious pressed in, trying to break the guard with an upward slash. Spike deflected it wide with the pipe, and kicked him in the stomach. Reeling backward, not even the Purple Eye could compensate as Spike brought the pipe up into Vicious's chin slamming his jaw together with a jarring force. The sword clanged along the ground.

 

“I didn't want to do that!” Spike rammed the pipe into the center of Vicious's chest, pinning him against the wall. “You forced me to. I hope you remember that when you wake up from this nightmare.”

 

“I'll shred you to pieces!” Vicious lashed out, clawing at the pipe.

 

Spike held him fast, straining under the effort. He counted each pulse of the pupil, each tiny flare. He'd never seen a crash from an overdose, but he had heard enough of the aura to see it coming.

 

“I'll kill you!” Vicious screamed, his hands reaching as far as they could. He only needed a fraction of an inch. The tips brushed against Spike's neck.

 

“You spat on me for my loyalty. I'm only doing this to save your ass! How does it feel now?” Spike tightened his grip on the pipe. Vicious remained at his mercy. More pressure against his breast bone would fracture it. Just enough, only enough to hold him at bay, even though Spike's muscles trembled at the prospect. The pulse through the length of the pipe called to him to end it. To snuff it out!

 

Restraint.

 

He shut his eyes, unable to watch as Vicious's body contracted in a violent spasm. It fell limp, pinned against the wall. Spike inched his eyelids back open, not daring to release the pressure until he was certain Vicious was truly unconscious. The moment he released the pipe Vicious slid down the wall. Spike caught him, cradling the sodden mess of his partner in his arms. He heaved a few breaths before throwing him over his shoulder. Spike knelt down long enough to fetch the katana before trudging through the puddles. Thunder rumbled through the darkened alley.

 

“Yeah yeah, I hear yah,” he panted. “Shit, Vicious you better appreciate this! Do you have any idea what I have to do now? I should just dump your ass in your apartment and let someone else handle this crap. But the body count would be unforgivable. There's only one place I know secure enough for the withdrawal.” He grunted to a halt and adjusted the slipping body on his shoulders. His gaze shifted to the tallest building in the city of Tharsis. “And I have no idea how I'm going to get you into there without anyone finding out.”

 

 


	6. Session 6

_ **Session 6** _

 

Laden with Vicious's still unconscious body, Spike sloshed through the puddles, dragging his feet up the flight of stairs to the side of the immense hexagonal skyscraper. “Stay asleep … until I can get this … figured out … Damn security, that's the problem.”

 

He paused and gazed at his pathetic reflection in the window, rivulets of rain cascaded down his drenched clothing clinging to his thin frame. No one stared back from inside. This late at night no one would be inside except for the usual security rounds. The surveillance equipment did most of their work. The trick would be getting around the electronic locks. C-4 could make short work of that, but the Red Dragons were no fools. The moment the charge went off, they'd know it.

 

Spike chewed on his lip. The need for a cigarette gnawed at him, but lighting soaked tobacco was a moot point. “There must be a way to short the power.”

 

A blinding bolt of lighting struck the tower, ran down the side of the building, and blew the panel off the electrical box. Spike stumbled back out of the debris. Bent double by the weight over his shoulder, he rubbed his eyes. By the time he looked up the entire skyscraper had been shrouded in darkness.

 

“Heh. Well, luck's luck.” He dashed for the side door and jimmied it open. With no electricity, the barrier was little more than a common lock. Child's play. Inside the syndicate's main tower his shoes squelched on the marble floor. The sound more obvious in the empty halls. Behind him he left a trail of water. His goal, the detox chamber, was in the second basement. If luck held out, he would make it there before the power and the surveillance cameras came back online.

 

Shadows edged along the walls thrown by the street lights shining through the office windows. Spike crept along, heading for the stairwell at the end of the hall. From the T section ahead a pair of flashlight beams struck the wall. Quickly, Spike set Vicious against the wall and edged to the corner. In the chrome dressing of an office door, he spied the distorted reflection of two guards shuffling their way.

 

“Frickin' power has to go out right after I refilled the coffee pot. Do you believe that? Hope it doesn't last long.”

 

“Shut up about your damn coffee. Frankly, I'm just pissed we have to actually walk around tonight. Sooner we get back to our office, the better.”

 

Spike cursed under his breath. If they kept coming this way he'd be caught for sure. The beams of light bobbed up and down in a rhythmic pattern. He pulled out a coin and set it on his thumb. Shutting his eyes, he tried to recall the few times he'd been privileged enough to enter the tower on errands. That hall ended with an open staircase. It was fairly short. With enough force he should be able to hit the mark. He waited for both lights to bob up, then he leaned around the corner gave the coin a sharp flick!

 

 _ **PING! … Ta-ting ting ting**_ …

 

The beams turned in tandem. “What the fuck was that? Someone in here?”

 

“Up the stairwell. I swear I heard someone going up.”

 

“Josh? Is that you?” A pause. The click of a gun. “Right. Come on. Let's check it out.”

 

Spike remained plastered against the wall holding his breath until he heard their ascending steps. Swiftly, he tugged Vicious back onto his shoulders and slunk down the other stairwell straight past the T section. In the pitch black of two full flights below the street level he relied on rubbing his elbow against the wall to track his progress. At last he reached the iron bolted door, half open.

 

“Thankfully no one is using this. Well, in you go.” He hauled Vicious inside and flopped him on the bench, wrapping the shackles firmly around his wrists and ankles. He tugged on them to be sure. Pausing a moment he heaved a sigh. “You'll thank me for this someday. But I don't expect it will be anytime soon. Sleep while you can.”

 

Spike slipped into the hall and shut the door behind him, turning the lock wheel until it refused to budge. Exhausted, he slumped to the floor and rested his chin on his folded arms. His eyes shut before he knew it.

 

*

 

“You fucking bastard! Release me and I'll rip your eyes out and feed them to you!”

 

Spike shivered in the darkened corridor. Hours had passed already. At least one with Vicious screaming like a demented banshee. Spike's hand tightened on his elbow as he grappled with the urge to open the door. There was nothing he could do to stop this. No way he could help until the drug's wretched hold released Vicious.

 

“I hate you! You worthless piece of shit!”

 

He hunkered down deeper. The lights flickered once before they came back on for good, too bright for eyes adjusted to pitch black. It did little to lift Spike's drowned spirits.

 

The cries grew hoarser, punctuated by gasps. “I know you're out there!”

 

Tucking his feet tighter to himself, Spike closed his eyes and shut out as much as he could. All he could do to ban the nightmare he knew Vicious endured sealed within the chamber. The visions and monsters that would taunt him until reality mercifully descended.

 

Time dragged by until at long last … silence.

 

Bleary-eyed, Spike turned the lock and hauled open the door. Vicious lay dazed on the bench, foam dribbled down his chin. He blinked up at Spike. “Wha … what happened?” His tongue explored the swelling spreading up from his jaw to his cheek.

 

“You fucked up.” Spike leaned against the door.

 

“Why am I chained?” He tugged feebly at the restraints.

 

“Detox chamber.”

 

“My jaw hurts.”

 

“Not surprising.” Spike crossed his arms, hardly able to summon the strength for sarcasm. “Look, it's been a long night, well, technically now it's day. We have to get your ass out of here before anyone figures out what happened.”

 

“What did happen?” Vicious drawled.

 

“I'll explain later. Now, if you're done being a psychotic asshole, I'll unlock you and we'll make a plausible excuse stop on our way out.” Spike knelt down and started to unlock the cuffs. “The power went out. That's how I got you in. The hard part is getting back out without raising suspicion. But I figured out that little detail. Mao owed me for a drop-off I did two days ago in the _Swordfish_. We'll stop by the desk and check to see if he left it. With luck, no one else will note we never walked into the building. Keep your mouth shut and your head down.”

 

“Why?” The moment Vicious sat up he swayed.

 

“Because you look like someone used your face for a sledgehammer.” Spike hefted him up onto his feet. “With your head down your hair covers a lot of it. Just concentrate on walking normal and keeping your mouth shut. I don't want to have to explain … well … anything.”

 

Vicious adjusted his dried clothing as best as he could, luckily it was dark fabric and the rain had already washed most of the stains off. He tucked his hands in his pockets and managed a halfway convincing gait beside Spike, who habitually looked rumpled. The moment they entered the main floor hardly anyone gave a second glance as Spike snapped his typical smirk their way.

 

With a purpose, he made for the desk and leaned on the edge of it. “Yo. Think it's payday for me. Mao should have left a little something?”

 

The secretary glanced up and did a double take. “And you think you are …?”

 

“Spike Spiegel.” He tapped the counter. “Come on, toots. I'm late for another run. Need this to put fuel in the tank.”

 

She fought a laugh and dug into a file and pulled out a woolong card. “Yeah, Mao Yenrai left this.” She pinched it on the far side corner, pulling back the second Spike grasped it. Immediately she disengaged and picked up the phone that hadn't even rung.

 

Spike tucked the payment in his pocket and turned on his heel, whistling a casual jazz tune. Vicious walked at his side out into the late afternoon sunlight. After they cleared the front steps he leaned over and whispered into Spike's ear, “I think I know why she gave you the cold shoulder. You smell like a back alley.”

 

Spike snorted. “I wonder why. Come on, the sooner I get you to your flat, the sooner I can go home and take a shower.” _You owe me, Vicious!_

 


	7. Session 7

_ **Session 7** _

 

“I hear your precious _Swordfish_ is in the shop again.” Vicious leaned over the footbridge rail. A half smoked cigarette wedged between his fingers. The mild breeze tossed his silk scarf around his neck and over his shoulder.

 

Spike adjusted his own cigarette with his tongue and sucked in a lungful of smoke. His elbows rested on the flaked metal of the railing. Below them, the sunset dyed the flowing river a deep russet. “Not for the reason you're thinking.”

 

“Oh? Are you finally scrapping her?”

 

“Not hardly. She's being fitted with a plasma cannon.” When Vicious shifted his weight back ever-so-slightly, Spike had to fight the urge to grin. “Devastator-class, turret mount. Been saving up the extra cash Mao pays me from those delivery runs over the last few months. Call it an early birthday present to myself.”

 

Vicious gripped the railing with one hand. “A devastator-class plasma cannon? That's nearly the same size as the ship. Why the hell do you need that?”

 

He shrugged and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “Figured it might come in handy someday.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Vicious rubbed his chin, the bruise having healed months ago. “Somehow I suspect it has more to do with that ISSP riding your jet stream last week. Rumor has it he had a lock on you and put a few holes in that ancient bird.”

 

Spike shifted his elbows on the railing and continued to stare at the ripples on the water.

 

“I knew it. At least you still have sense enough to make sure no one gets the drop on you again.”

 

A long silence stretched out, only filled by the lighting of fresh cigarettes. The river carried away the spent ashes. Words still remained unspoken. The night half-remembered by one, and silently born by the other. Somehow it felt easier to ignore it, even with the fettering weight. Business as usual.

 

Vicious inclined his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike noted the micro-gesture and followed the line. A weasel of a man scurried across the downriver footbridge. Vicious whispered, “Don't we know him?”

 

“Sure do. It's that White Tiger lackey you left your mark on when we caught him dealing in an alley about three weeks back. Looks like he should've seen a surgeon for that.”

 

“What was his name?”

 

“Don't remember, didn't catch it. He kept screaming about God or something. Lot of good that did him.”

 

“I wonder what he's doing in Red Dragon territory again after our warning?”

 

Spike shrugged and flicked his spent cigarette in the river. “Fulfilling a death wish?”

 

The _schnick_ of Vicious's katana breaking loose from the sheath came a moment before he stepped away. “You coming? Or do you need to ask your poker chip?”

 

Sliding back from the railing, Spike snorted a laugh. “Nope. Fate kinda already knocked up this sucker.”

 

They tailed the weasel three blocks at a leisurely pace before splitting up. Vicious strolled up alongside the man before drawing his blade. The second the weasel backed up and tried to reach for his gun, Spike grappled him into a body-lock from behind. With one arm wrapped around his throat, and a firm grip twisting his wrist, all the weasel could do was wail.

 

“Shut up.” Vicious backhanded him.

 

“Oh God! Not you two again! Let me go!”

 

“Relax.” Spike twisted his arm harder. “This won't hurt for long, provided you cooperate. Now, what are you doing back on out turf?”

 

He shook his head. “I didn't want to. I was ordered to. I had no choice. Please, I'm still healing from last time.”

 

Reaching forward, Vicious brushed the row of fine katana slices with his fingers. “The least of your worries.”

 

Maintaining the lock on his throat, Spike rifled through the weasel's jacket pocket and plucked out his cell phone. He flicked through the messages before pausing at one. A slow smile formed. “Vicious, check it. They're still using the same lame ass code.”

 

The weasel blinked as Vicious caught his phone. “Lame ass? Our code is multi-layered!”

 

Vicious took a passing glance, his blade still trained on the man's heart. “The Gilded Peacock? Wonder what target could possible be there?”

 

The weasel's jaw went slack.

 

“Shall we find out?”

 

“They don't serve street-trash.” Vicious smirked at Spike. “You are improperly dressed for such a fine establishment.”

 

Spike half hooded his eyes. “And me without my black-tie and jacket.”

 

“Please!” The weasel squirmed. “I'm already late.”

 

“So sorry we held you up.” Spike released him right as Vicious thrust forward. Leaving the body to cool, they cut through the alleys, Vicious in the lead as he knew where the fancy restaurant was.

 

By the time they arrived, the place was already lit up with gunfire. Broken glass littered outside. From a surveillance distance, Spike pointed at a hot rod parked out front. “Look, I would bet the _Swordfish_ that car belongs to Ironwall.”

 

“Gates, right? One of Mao's officers.”

 

He nodded.

 

“I doubt he was having a fancy dinner with the White Tigers. I don't want to wait in line to get in.”

 

Spike cocked his head. “How about the back door?”

 

“There isn't a back door.”

 

“Oh yeah?” He pulled out a grenade and tapped the pin.

 

*

 

Ironwall crouched in a layer of crushed glass behind the make-shift barricade of the bar. Whatever patrons and staff had not managed to flee had been cut down in the melee. Only he and a handful of his associates, now wounded, remained pinned down in the once first class restaurant. He gripped his right wrist and tied a cloth napkin around it tight enough to staunch the bleeding. It seemed like such a waste of a move. To have survived the ambush this long was enough of a miracle. All he could manage now was to take out as many of these White Tiger bastards as he could with him.

 

His hand shook as he tried to grip his gun once more. It slipped from his limp fingers. Fresh blood blossoming through the napkin. He bowed his head., the few men he had left providing crossfire the only thing keeping the rival syndicate at bay. And just barely.

 

A White Tiger aimed a gun muzzle around the end of the counter, smiling.

 

_**BAWOOOM!** _

 

A cloud of debris dislodged the kitchen door blowing it and the White Tiger out of sight. Ironwall jerked up as two shadows darted through the smoke followed by a series of bone-cracking blows. “What the … ” He edged up and peered over the counter top as two teenagers shredded their way through the melee, broad grins on both their faces.

 

In the mass confusion Spike didn't bother to draw his gun. He tucked into a somersault and landed a hefty kick into one shocked gunman who fell backward. In the process, the Tiger's gun pointed back as he tried to catch himself. He pulled the trigger and shot his comrade. In shock, the comrade also pulled his trigger accidentally aimed at the first guy.

 

Spike snickered, “Two for one special!”

 

Driving through the mess, Spike used his momentum to catch the next guy, who attempted to stand up. He caught his arm and used him as a human shield to catch slugs in his back. Spike pushed through three others, kicking their prone figures as he passed. Each neck snapped with the force.

 

Meanwhile, Vicious cut a path around the inside with his katana. The stunned Tigers brought up their hands in attempts to fend him off only to watch the limbs spin off into the air. They didn't have long to consider being handicapped. In combinations of two and three stroke moves, he dispatched them. The quarters grew tighter as the body count racked up among the splintered tables. The low ceiling proved difficult to swing, more than one light fixture exploded.

 

Vicious glanced over his shoulder and spied Spike dislocating a grunt's shoulder with a brutal twist. Snugged in the only part of his shirt that was tucked in, winked the hilt of the Colt Commander. Vicious snatched it and turned to the idiot who dared to rush him. Two trigger pulls and the man toppled backward. The gun favored the left. So Vicious drew a bead on the next man a few fingers off to correct and pulled the trigger.

 

“Bulls eye.”

 

The room stilled as Vicious's target slid down the column revealing a new hole in the polished wood. Spike crouched, sweeping the mess for any motion, his hands in a loose guard. “Shit, are you kidding me? _That_ was all they got?”

 

Vicious sheathed his katana and huffed. “It looked like more from the outside.”

 

From behind the counter, Ironwall still fought to catch his breath. He was about to stand up when Spike jerked a hard glance outside.

 

“Yo! They called back-up … uh? … ” He took a step backward. “Heavy artillery!”

 

Both of them vaulted over the bar and tucked as a barrage of AK-47 fire tore apart the decorative wood. Covering their heads, all three Red Dragons edged as tight as they could to the meager shield

 

“Tell me you have another grenade!” Vicious shouted above the din.

 

“Heh! Since when do I need more than one?” Spike barked back, sparing a relieved glance to find Ironwall breathing among them.

 

“Since now!” Vicious gripped the Colt Commander and attempted to sneak a shot. Splinters of flying wood mowed down any chance he had.

 

Ironwall narrowed his eyes at Spike wedged behind the counter, the closest one to him. “You two … you're with Mao. His recruits from a few years ago.”

 

Spike's intense gaze shifted his way a second, enough that Ironwall's jaw slackened.

 

“No way. _You're_ that lazy-eyed kid he dredged up from a slum crater!” Ironwall winced as he tried once more unsuccessfully to pick up his gun. “Damn. If I didn't see it, I'd never believe it was you. What's your name?”

 

“Spike.” He covered his head as remnants of a bottle rained down adding to the crushed bed of glass they lay on.

 

“Don't joke with me, boy. Your real name.”

 

“That is my real name.” Spike narrowed his eyes from the blind. He kicked a bottle, sending it spinning against the wall. “Damn it, Vicious! It's only a handful! I'm not getting cut down by a handful of White Tiger lackeys.” He glanced around at the stock, pulled out the nearest bottle and stuffed a cloth napkin down the neck to act as a wick. Hastily he flicked out his lighter and held it as steady as he could under the shaking barrage on the other side. “Grenades aren't the only thing that causes mass damage.” With a grunt he lobbed it over the counter. “Hair of the dog, asshole!”

 

_**FA-WOOSH!** _

 

A pained scream rewarded his effort. Spike grinned, he glanced over as Vicious rolled another prepped bottle his way. “I believe you might prefer the white wine. It's a bit drier.”

 

The flame caught the fabric, orange light gleamed in his dark brown eyes. “What's that nonsense wine drinkers say? Nice bouquet or something? Ehh, whatever … one wine spritzer, coming up!” As hard as he could, he threw the bottle. This time there was no scream as the gunfire cut down by another third.

 

Vicious snuck a quick peek, a bullet grazed his cheek on the way by. He ducked back down and rubbed the blood away. “We have a problem. The last one has cover. A cocktail won't reach him. Nothing back here is big enough for that.”

 

Spike glanced at ceiling but didn't even try to stand. Instead he took a metal shaker and tossed it straight up. For a split second he spied the muzzle flare from behind a wide column. Then the shaker spun away, riding on bullets. He chewed on his lip.

 

With a wide grin he laid down on his back and pulled out his Beretta, double checking the clip. “Vicious. Give me a trick shot!”

 

Vicious paused with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He scowled. “No. You'll leave a dent—again!”

 

“I'll buff it out.” He held the gun at the ready. “Seriously, I'll buy you a new katana if I can't! Just do it.”

 

“Fine. What angle?” Vicious pulled the sword out and edged it up, still maintaining cover behind the counter.

 

“Hold on.” Grabbing another shaker, Spike tossed it up and watched the split second before the bullet tore it away. Like clockwork his brain played out the equation. “Shallow. Twenty-five.” He braced the gun, holding it firm with the point just above the counter. Vicious scowled, but tipped the blade closer to vertical, turning the surface as it rose. Spike shut his left eye and waited for the exact angle he needed. He held his breath and between heartbeats … squeezed the trigger.

 

The bullet took off, struck the blade and zinged at the new angle.

 

“ACK!” The gun stopped.

 

Vicious pulled his blade down and examined it with a deep scowl. “This _better_ buff out.”

 

Spike broke into laughter, pulling himself out of the debris. He stood without any answering fire.

 

With a grunt, Ironwall edged up, cradling his bleeding hand. He stared at Vicious and Spike respectively. “You are a viper. And you, you are a hell hound. How are you still free runners? I've never seen anything like that before. How old are you?”

 

“Now that we're the only ones here with a pulse.” Vicious sheathed his sword. “As for me, I'm eighteen.”

 

Spike rummaged through some of the bottles, pouring splashes into one of the undamaged shakers. “Eh? Oh, seventeen. Hey, Vicious, you see any vermouth?”

 

Glancing at the bottles, Vicious picked one up and read the label. “Why … ? Wait, since when do you know how to make a martini?”

 

“Oh, this should do it.” He splashed a bit in, gave it a twirl and took a swig. Which he immediately spat out. “Puh! Apparently I _don't_ know how. Ugh.”

 

“Move over.” Vicious dumped the contents on the floor and started over.

 

Ironwall pressed a contact on his cell phone, and put it to his ear. “Mao … I'm alright … yes … an ambush, but I have to talk to you about something. … No, not that. Two of your newer recruits came in and saved my six. … Spike and Vicious. Why are they not on a team? … Well, I want them. … Not in a few years. Now. … Yes … not negotiable.”

 

Vicious poured the shaker into two unbroken glasses and handed one to Spike. “Try that.”

 

He savored it with a wide grin. “Damn, that's smooth.”

 

Clicking the glass, Vicious nodded toward Ironwall, his hungry gaze focused on the rank braid dressing Ironwall's officer jacket. “And that, partner, is how you nail a promotion.”

 

Spike morosely stared at the empty glass. “I just want another martini.”

 

 


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

 

Festive light-strands stretched out over the patio above the heads of the smartly dressed throng. Waiters in fine suits presented trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres to the gathering. It was only mid afternoon, and the celebration looked to last long into the night. An array of ranked Red Dragons socialized in Mao's lavish riverside estate.

 

Spike tugged the thin black tie down to his collar bone and undid the top button to let the shirt collar flop wide. Able to breathe again, he sighed and rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue suit jacket.

 

“No! Don't do that.” Annie bounded up and grabbed his tie, shoving the knot back up until he gagged. “You look nice all cleaned up.”

 

“Gah! Knock it off. I had it how I wanted it.” He tugged it loose, offering her a scowl.

 

She chuckled. “Blue's a good color on you. Honestly, Spike. Since you're in the ranks now you should consider something like this more often.”

 

He ruffled her hair, grateful for the distraction from this all-too-serious event. “What, so I'm pre-dressed for my funeral? You keep saying I'm gonna die. Well … I'm still waiting.”

 

“Still, you've been scarce since the ceremony. Uncle Mao wants to see you.”

 

Spike rolled his eyes. “Come on, haven't we been through enough of the introductions? My arm's gonna fall off with all that handshaking.” He lost the battle as Annie dragged him across the cobblestones. Along the way he spied Vicious with his arm around Julia. Her blond hair spilling down her back in curls. The grip of Vicious's hand appeared like one might grip a trophy. A few officers gathered around him as he commanded their attention. Julia gazed up at Vicious longingly. An expression he didn't return.

 

Mao's beady eyes lit up as his niece dragged Spike toward him. “Where did you find him?”

 

“Under the wisteria, trying to blend in.”

 

“I wasn't trying to blend in … I was just … getting some air.” Spike rubbed the back of his neck. “This is … is all this fanfare really necessary? I thought it was going to be a small gathering.”

 

“Oh Spike. This _is_ a small gathering.” Mao glanced over his shoulder and waved at his butler. He turned Spike and Annie toward the camera and placed a hand on each shoulder. “Smile you two. I want to remember this for as long as I live.”

 

Spike cocked a cheesy grin into the lens. The moment the butler moved off, Mao kissed Annie on the cheek. “Thank you, now be a dear and go tell Ironwall I will be with him in a short while to finalize the details.” After she darted off, Mao picked up two cups of sake from a tray and presented one to Spike. He moved to the railing overlooking his garden as Spike joined him. “You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

 

“Is that right?” Spike tried to laugh, but it died in his throat. “I didn't do this alone.” He gestured toward Vicious, but Mao aborted the motion with a hand.

 

“I have pride in him as well. But in you it is different.” He lifted the cup and took a sip.

 

Spike mimicked it and gagged on his first taste of the strong alcohol. “Wow! That packs a punch.”

 

Mao chuckled and reaching up to Spike's shoulder, squeezed it. “I knew I had found something special the first time I met you. That's why I couldn't leave the pool hall until an agreement had been made. Both of you are unique. But you, Spike, you bring out the best in Vicious. I always saw potential in him from the moment I brought him in as a hopeful initiate. However, his nature made him difficult to handle. Without someone else who could challenge him, he lashed out at the other students. You reined him in. When you two run together nothing escapes you. My territory has been troubled in the past. But not as much since I unleashed you both. Word traveled swiftly and that's why you are here now. Spike, this success is on your shoulders.”

 

He tried to hide the blush by looking away.

 

“Listen to me. This is important. You're in the ranks now. Things will grow more dangerous. But, I know you can handle it.”

 

Taking another sip of the sake, Spike nodded.

 

“Most of all,” Mao took his hand and pressed it. “Never forget your oath. You two are the future of the syndicate.”

 

Spike stiffened, his eyes widened. _Vicious said the same thing. Could this be true?_

 

“Confidence you have plenty of. More than enough to lead one day. But don't get too cocky. That's the number one killer in the syndicate. Lifespans are short in this line of work. Only the strong and quick-witted survive to advance. Something tells me you will both find a place standing on the top floor of the tower. I know I won't live to see that day. But I am honored to have started you on that path.” He released the hand and straightened Spike's tie. “Now, stop hiding in the wisteria and enjoy your celebration. Go.”

 

In a daze, Spike drifted through the crowd. Hands brushed his shoulder, praise entered one ear and left the other. Hours later, Spike sat on the moonlit stairs when Ironwall dropped down beside him and offered a smoke. Spike gladly accepted. “You didn't have to, I mean, you are my new—”

 

“Never mind that, Spike. There's a time and a place for titles. And here I don't care about that. Right now I just want to enjoy a smoke with the boy who saved my life.” He held up his bandaged hand. “That was some sharp thinking on your feet. Well above what I see in common low ranked members. Where does that come from?”

 

Spike shrugged and scratched his head. “I think Mao still has a pool table. Follow me.”

 

Ironwall stood up and followed. “Ooohh-kay.”

 

Ten minutes later, most of the crowd funneled into the French doors to Mao's game room, enthralled as Spike set up round after round of the most unreal trick shots. Balls hopping into whiskey glasses. English spins into every pocket. Even a single shot over every ball lined up in a touching row where the cue ball dislodged the final ball and angled it into the corner pocket.

 

Spike never broke a sweat as request after request poured over his shoulder. No matter the challenge set before him, he studied the table, did the math, and made it happen. Like a master magician on stage he never revealed his secrets. Across from him, leaning on the rail in the halo of golden light, Julia stood transfixed by every shot.

 

Rubbing the chalk on the cue, Spike half-lidded his eyes. “Alright, now let's have some real fun.” From his pocket he pulled out the poker chip and flicked it in the air. “Put the playing card on top of the glass … yup, just like that. Now, the chip, crown up please. Right, now another glass upside down. Clear the rail.”

 

He gave the cue ball a back spin roll, caught it, and dropped it into place. “And this is how we play 'sand in the hour glass'.” Leaning over the rail he stared down the cue. “Don't. Blink.”

 

In a lightning-strike the ball hit the card out from between leaving the glasses motionless. Freed, the poker chip tumbled into the bottom of the glass, bare side up.

 

Out on the patio, Vicious stood framed in the moonlight … alone.

 


	9. Session 9

_ **Session 9** _

 

_Shiiiinnnkkkk. Shiiiinnnkkkk. Shiiinnnkkkk._

 

Obsessed with the rhythm, Vicious ran the whetstone along the edge of his katana. His eyes focused on the blade, measuring the sheen in the dim light of the condemned third story room Ironwall's handpicked squad kept watch in. This stakeout had already whiled away an entire day. An entire day of listening to their superiors point and bicker about building egress plans. Over in the windowsill by the fire escape, Spike reclined with his head resting against the chilled pane. Huddled in his jacket, every breath left a brief print of condensation. His eyes had been closed for hours, his right arm hanging limp at his side. Vicious snapped his gaze back to his sword. With a single hair he tested the edge. Two fine curls peeled off the one. It was ready.

 

Jovi, one of the men Ironwall left in charge of the mission, pounded a fist on the table in the center of the dusty room. “I'm telling you, the best place for the ambush isn't in the front of the building. They'll be expecting that. We need to come at them from this side entrance where there is less cover for them.”

 

Kip, Jovi's partner, leaned forward and batted his hand away. “It leaves us exposed too, Jovi. Out front we can jump them from here and over here. Why is this escaping you?”

 

“Because that's obvious. And obvious will get us all killed.”

 

_ This is the eighth go-around for these nimrods. Both plans are full of holes.  _ Vicious rolled his eyes. The motion caught two bored men inching toward Spike. One held the end of a metal rod in his lighter flame as he crept forward to the whispers of his pal. “Heh, lazybones. The boss called him a Hellhound. But I can't let sleeping dogs lie.”

 

“Yeah right, teach him to snooze on the job.”

 

They remained oblivious as Vicious closed the distance. His katana sheered the thin rod in two, the glowing end tipped onto the floor. Two sets of shocked eyes blinked up at Vicious. “There will be no hazing, understand?”

 

Both men gulped and backed against the wall.

 

Vicious sheathed his sword and huffed a breath. “Morons.” Behind him the team nearly broke into a fist fight over the plans. He shook is head.

 

In the window, Spike's eyes snapped open. “They're here,” he murmured.

 

Leaning into the window, Vicious peered down as a delivery truck pulled around the corner. He eyed Spike's hand as the pocker chip materialized. He gave it a toss in the air. It landed on the sill and spun down in a circle. At last it settled, crown side up.

 

Vicious grinned. “I win. Go bait the hook.”

 

Snatching the chip, Spike tucked it in his pocket and loosened the latch on the window. “You know this is the fun part, right?”

 

One of the would-be hazers tried to tug on Jovi's sleeve only to be batted away. His wide eyes watched helplessly.

 

Vicious gave Spike a shove out the window. “Just don't let them actually catch you.”

 

The squeal of the fire escape brackets breaking loose from the corrosion turned Jovi's head. The hazer pointed to the window just as Vicious's head vanished from view.

 

*

 

Spike whistled an idle tune as he strolled by the truck, slouching with his hands in his leather jacket pockets. The driver leapt out of truck cab, a few more men dropped from the back as Spike meandered by, kicking a can. Big burly grunts with their firearms in full display turned their eyes toward him.

 

“Hey you, kid.” The truck driver waved a hand in the air. “You shouldn't be here. Get lost!”

 

Unfazed, Spike gave the can another clattering punt along the gutter.

 

The grunts moved in tighter, a semi-circle leaving only one route of escape. “You deaf or dumb or somethin'? I'm talkin' at you!”

 

A rumble accompanied by a puff of exhaust turned their attention back to the truck. In tandem the men turned around to the now running vehicle just as it slipped into gear and started down the road.

 

Spike drew his foot back and delivered a violent kick to the can. It nailed the bewildered driver in the back of head bending him over. Leapfrogging over him, Spike reached into the driver's pocket and grabbed the key-ring. He cartwheeled, flattening two more thugs with kicks before breaking into an all out run for the handle on the back of the truck. Hot on his heels, the remaining grunts pulled out their firearms and stumbled to follow.

 

Catching hold, Spike hauled himself up onto the back and perched on the speeding vehicle. He produced his Beretta and fired off a few rounds, laughing as the men danced to avoid them. They screamed in rage as the truck barreled off, tipping as it rounded the corner.

 

Once the coast was clear, Spike laid his head back against the bouncing door, laughing hysterically. “That was too easy! Man, what a rush!”

 

The truck squealed to a halt in a warehouse. Spike leapt down and peered into the alley outside. No one in pursuit. He snatched the overhead door pull and hauled it down with a rattling clang.

 

A bloody arm hung out the truck's passenger window. Vicious dropped out of the cab, his cell phone in his hand. “Ironwall. If you want the shipment, we have it down at the warehouse … How is it there so quickly? Easy. We left those juveniles bickering over a post-trade ambush plan. None of them thought of just stealing the damn truck first. We'll lock up for you.”

 

Spike fitted the key into the padlock on the truck's back door as Vicious padded up to him. “Shit. that stakeout took forever. I could really use a drink.”

 

“Me too.” Vicious eyed him. “But you'll need to lose that street-thread look. Come on, we'll swing by your place so you can change.”

 

“What?” Spike tugged on the front of his T-shirt. “This again?”

 

“Where we're going they serve the best martinis in town. But they won't let a bum in. Now move it.”

 

*

 

The staff of _ Le Sommet  _ quietly maneuvered through the polished surfaces of the fine restaurant. Everyone in the dining hall and at the bar was attired appropriately. The women in gowns, the men in black ties and jackets. That included Spike as he ran an idle finger along the rim of his martini glass. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and scarcely recognized himself. Between his fingers he spun the poker chip, the gold foil of the crown catch the light.

 

“Tonight we showed those ranked lackeys how things are done.” Vicious lifted his empty martini glass and gestured to the bartender. “With plans like that we're on our way straight to the top.”

 

The chip turned again and again, an endless flash between the face and bare side. He lifted his own glass and took a sip. A waiter drifted by with a tray of plates. Tiny blobs of food huddled in the middle of each, artfully arranged.  _ Where the heck is the food in this joint?  _ Spike thought to himself.  _ How is it that so many of the rich are porky sons of bitches while eating practically nothing?  _

 

Vicious continued talking for sometime, but his words didn't register as Spike resumed trying to match up the image in the mirror with himself. Who was this polished stranger staring back? All that remained of Spike was the un-tameable mat of dark green hair.

 

“ … you really need to consider what you wear, Spike. You're less intimidating dressed like a thug.”

 

Spike flicked the chip and watched it spin again. “We are thugs.”

 

“Not anymore. And that's my point. To be taken seriously you have to take yourself seriously. Show some self respect. We aren't thugs. We are men who mean business. True businessmen. A sharp image is intimidating.”

 

“Is that so? I have a feeling that your katana has a lot more impact on your impression than your fashion sense.”

 

“The fact is—”

 

“I don't care.” Spike sighed. “Sure, you walk around the tower and what do you see? Suits. Yes, I'm not blind. Does that mean I have to tie a noose around my neck too?”

 

Vicious fingered his own tie. “This is not a noose.”

 

With a shrug, Spike finished off his martini and signaled for a refill. “I know it embarrasses you. That's the only reason you give a shit. Your own personal vanity. I don't know why you value it so high. You and I have proven everyone bleeds red. So aside from body armor, it doesn't matter what you wrap a future corpse in.”

 

Setting his glass down, Vicious scowled. “I thought you would be thrilled after today's success.”

 

He flicked the chip into a spin again, not letting it fall from its tight dance. “Yeah, me too. But it just wasn't … it didn't feel the same. The thrill was too short. There, then gone. It wasn't … ” he hesitated, glimpsing the hunger he felt in Vicious eyes, “ … enough.”

 

A smile grew. Vicious gripped Spike's shoulder. “I knew you would wake up eventually. I just knew the drive was there. We are kin after all. Two beasts destined to dominate the lesser animals.” He gripped the katana hilt. “We will make them respect us.”

 

Spike eyed the golden flash of the katana at Vicious's waist and smirked. “Just remember, there is a marked difference between respect and fear.”

 

“A powerful beast keeps his fangs sharpened, concealed beneath a steely veneer.”

 

This time Spike flicked the chip and let it spin down, gradually the focal point teetered and the pattern began to spread out into a wide wobble. The chip chittered to a stop. The crown winked in the light. Spike's half-lidded eyes barely reflected the shimmer.

 

He grasped the fresh martini and took a deep gulp from the glass savoring the flavor. None of the bars he frequented served one anywhere near this quality. To get in here all it took was changing one thing. One seemingly insignificant thing and suddenly nothing mattered. Not even his age.

 

Not black, though. He rested his chin on a palm. Blue.

 


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

 

Spike leaned against the chain link fence with his hands in his leather jacket pockets. Down the street Vicious approached idly, his silk scarf tossed in the breeze like pennant.

 

The moment he eyed Spike's typical attire, he sneered. “Didn't you hire a tailor weeks ago?”

 

“Yeah, I did,” he replied around the cigarette. “But for one, we're not really on-duty. And for two, apparently suits aren't something that manifest themselves. I'll be picking them up later this week.”

 

Waving a dismissive hand as he strode past, Vicious scowled. “We may be off-duty, but our orders are to stay together.”

 

“In case we're needed.” Spike padded along at his side. “Shit, is your memory that bad? I was in the room with you and everyone else when Ironwall gave orders. I get it, there's been a lot of signs of the other syndicate's kicking the tires, seeing if we're running. Don't know about you, but I've been idling for some real action. Tired of dealing with the little pricks.” They walked a block in silence. “Sooo, what are the plans to kill time?”

 

“I need to pick something up.” Vicious cut across a park and down a few blocks into a mass of single-digit story buildings. Far from the industrial districts, the well-maintained structures provided a rather homey feel.

 

Spike cast his gaze around and whistled. “Not a bad district. Better than my place.”

 

“The sewer is better than your place.”

 

“You can't say that anymore.” Spike huffed.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Cause I don't live there now.” He ducked his head into his jacket as Vicious cast a skewed gaze his way.

 

“The landlord finally found your annoying neighbor's body in his own freezer, didn't he.”

 

“Fucker shouldn't've knocked on my door at three in the morning. Threatening me with a shot gun was an even worse judgment call.” Spike shrugged. “Guess he didn't expect me to shove the barrel back up into his side of his head. Anyway, took the landlord a couple months to notice. Suppose he finally missed the rent payments. Coulda been the guy's rotting cat I accidentally locked in the apartment. Didn't see the little furball. Anyway, when the landlord unlocked the door guess he had quite a shock.” A can rattled as he kicked it along the gutter. “Maybe I should have cleaned up dickhead's band saw after I was done making him fit the icebox. What can I say, I don't really think things through when I'm half-awake.”

 

“And being awake makes any difference?”

 

Spike glared at him for a moment for the inaccurate insult before the half-hooding his eyes. “Oh well. At least the landlord gave me a week to find a new place after we negotiated terms.”

 

Vicious glanced to the side. “Your Beretta had something to do with it.”

 

He sniggered. “She's very persuasive.”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you to move out of the slums?”

 

Spike barked a laugh. “What? And get into a high rise? You know they're a bit tetchy about grenade crates and boxes of C-4 on the elevators.”

 

“Maybe it's the possibility of their home being razed to the ground.”

 

“Shit, I've only done that once and it was a lousy shed anyway. Nah. I prefer the districts where the ISSP doesn't set foot because the cowards are convinced they won't walk out again. Heh, chances are they won't check this place out even if they find out about it. Besides, the current guy doesn't ask for shit. Not even my name. Just wanted the cash upfront.”

 

Vicious shook his head. “Warehouse?”

 

“Maybe. Dunno. Looks more like it was a factory or some shit before he slapped up some divider walls. Anyway, I got the old break room.”

 

“You can't cook.”

 

Spike smirked. “So … I could learn … if I wanted to. But … yah know … ” He flicked the cigarette away as they turned toward the entrance of a four story apartment building. “What's here?”

 

“Stay put.” Vicious disappeared through the door.

 

Spike leaned in and looked up the staircase, a crooked grin crossed his face. “Yeah right. I ain't your frickin' puppy.” Mounting the steps two at a time, he caught up with Vicious on the forth floor the moment he vanished inside an apartment. Spike closed the distance and walked right in.

 

Julia blinked over Vicious's shoulder at the scruffy shadow in her doorway. “Ummm … hi. It was Spike, wasn't it?”

 

Vicious turned around and glared daggers at his partner. “I thought I told you to—”

 

“Wait downstairs.” Spike leaned against the doorjamb, looking around the tidy one bedroom apartment. “Come on, since when do  _ I _ listen? Besides, when you said we were picking something up didn't think it was a  _ someone _ , let alone your girl. Hey sweetheart. This place is sick.”

 

“In case you can't tell, Spike is gutter trash. That was his sordid attempt at a compliment.”

 

Julia crossed her arms. “Vicious, be nice to your partner.”

 

He picked up her jacket and pushed it into her hands. “I will, when he earns my respect.”

 

“Right back atchya, buddy.” Struck by a rather mischievous idea, Spike winked. “Hey Julia, you've been to a pool hall, right?”

 

“Once, but not for very long.” She perked up. “Usually Vicious takes me to higher class restaurants. I would love a chance to play, though.”

 

Vicious's eyebrows knitted as Spike flashed him a victorious grin. “Well, we've got some time this afternoon, so what do you say? I know of a pretty nice joint to hang out.”

 

“Julia, trust me, you don't want to go to one his rat holes.”

 

She cocked her head as they dropped down the flights of stairs. “It's not the Maroon Dirt, is it?”

 

“Nah,” Spike pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it. “Wouldn't want pretty boy to sully his suit again. I'm still getting my ear bent about his dry-cleaning bill. There's a couple of other nice places around with less fleas. Follow me.”

 

The poker chip tumbled up into the air and back down, vanishing into Spike's hand. He barely concealed his grin as he glanced back over his shoulder.

 

_ Damn it! _ Vicious was about to pull his katana and slice that thing in two when Julia dropped back and clung to his elbow, fear glinting in her eyes. The expression sent a thrill through his body.  _ Mine. Don't even think about leaving. _ He pulled her closer.

 

She shuddered in his grasp and lay her head on his shoulder, murmuring, “I'm yours.”

 

*

 

Spike leaned a hip on the rail of the pool table, over his shoulder he watched Vicious's scowl darken as he stared at the lousy arrangement of the balls on the table. Despite the situation, Spike had at least been intentionally missing every other shot. Of course, his  _ miss _ never left a good shot for his partner. Silently, he relished the frustration on Vicious's face. He plucked the number two ball from the corner pocket and started playing sleight-of-hand tricks with it to fill the long pause.

 

Four games now. Four against just Vicious, not counting the two where Julia played against each of them. He'd expected Vicious's temper to end it after the second one. Instead, he continued to try his luck.

 

At the other corner of the table, Julia leaned forward, her fingers traced the lip of her beer glass. She stole frequent glances at Spike's idle hand-games while Vicious deliberated. Through half-lidded eyes he watched her, increasingly varying the tricks between his fingers just to glimpse the momentary surprise popping in her face. She was an open book.

 

“Yo, Vicious, you know you just have to hit the white one.” Spike grinned.

 

The violet eyes edged up to him with their venomous glare. “You left with me with nothing to hit.”

 

He rubbed his chin. “There's plenty to hit out there … well, just not very many without scratching. Again.”

 

Julia pointed, “What about over—”

 

“I don't need a woman's advice.” Vicious groused.

 

Taking refuge in her beer, she tried to hide the blush. Spike dropped the ball back into the pocket. “I didn't leave you entirely without a shot.”

 

Through clenched teeth he spat, “Shut up and let me!”

 

“Fine.” Spike shrugged. “But how about you do something before the sun sets? It's been like ten minutes over here.”

 

Vicious set the cue on the edge of the table, picked up his empty glass, and pushed by Spike. “Now you can wait ten more.”

 

Instead of getting angry, Spike snorted a laugh as Vicious approached the bar out of earshot. “Heh, like another vodka is gonna tip the odds in tetchy-ass's favor. Well, I knew this would be good for a laugh.”

 

Julia edged a bit closer, still leaving the length of Vicious's pool cue between them. “You two are rather cruel to one another.”

 

“What? Oh you mean the pushing each other's buttons? Yeah. It only looks like we hate each other.” He took a swig from his beer and chuckled. “Kinda like brothers, I suppose.”

 

“You two are brothers?”

 

“In arms.” He raised his beer. “Close as we get. But nah, not a drop of shared blood. Doesn't matter. We'd kill to protect one another. Well … you know, we kill anyway. It  _ is  _ how we make a living.”

 

She chuckled, “At least I know someone is protecting my love.”

 

The smile faded from Spike. He plucked out a fresh cigarette only to find her staring at him. He handed her one and lit them both, still deliberating. With a breath of smoke he murmured. “You're lying.”

 

“About what?”

 

He looked at Vicious's back. “Lying to yourself that you love him. That's not what it is.”

 

She stiffened, the ash trembling from the end of the cigarette.

 

Spike half shut eyes at the confirmation. “You shouldn't let him treat you like that. Between him and me is one thing, it's business.”

 

“I … I do have feelings for him.”

 

“Didn't say you didn't have feelings. Said it wasn't love. And that's obvious.” Eyeing her sideways he watched her eyes tremor as she stared at Vicious. “Damn, a broad like you who can take down Bronx in one shot, you can take care of yourself. You don't need someone like Vicious.”

 

“It's complicated. I can't just ...”

 

“So you lie.”

 

Her fists balled up. “All women lie.”

 

“Wrong.” He plucked the cigarette out and took a gulp of the beer. “Everyone lies. Young, old, men, chicks. This whole thing is a lie. Hell, even life is.”

 

She reached into the table pocket and pulled out one of the striped balls, rolling it in her hands. “That's not what the existentialists say.”

 

“Exi-what?” He smirked deliberately.  _ Great, here we go plumbing the shallowness of deep thinking. _

 

“You know, the belief that every individual makes their own choices freely.”

 

“That's all a crock of bullshit. Case in point, your situation.”

 

“My situation?” She straightened up and met his concealed gaze. “You mean with Vicious? I want to be with him.”

 

Spike inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke. “Believe what you want to, but everything in this galaxy from the laziest gutter rat to the fat asses sitting on top are all motivated by the actions of consequences enacted by others. Love is a twisted altruistic fantasy built around the lie that humanity is capable of sacrificing without expecting something in return. Hah, yeah, if that were the indelible truth we'd have less shrinks. In your case, those around you have led you to believe that chicks can't survive without a strong man to protect them. I see it in your eyes. But I've also seen your core peering out. You don't need to take crap from anyone. Regardless, you do, solely because you believe you need his cranky ass to survive. That idea isn't your own. Society's fucked up stereotype taught you that. Vicious bought into to it. But he's out for himself, not to create some ideal little microcosm of a romantic getaway. His reason is more primal, an urge to dominate. There'll be no roses and wine over a Ganymede rock lobster dinner with him. Just lots of cold nights in a bed, alone.”

 

The ball ceased to move in her hands.

 

“Trust me, Julia. I've fought that bastard since we were boys. I've seen who he  _ really _ is.” Spike's fingers toyed with the poker chip from his pocket rolling it back and forth. “I know. I'm a blunt asshole. But I see no point in pouring sugar over a rotten deal. Life's short and the notion of immortality is a bitter fantasy. None of us is gettin' out of this alive. I'm just trying to see how far I can make it from the burnt out gutter I was born in before some scumbag gets lucky and takes my ass with him. Gonna be a bloody thrill ride, and I wanna go out big. Anything less is a waste of time. That's how I see it. Vicious will never admit it, but his goal only differs by symantics.”

 

“I can't leave him,” she whispered, setting the ball back into the pocket.

 

“I know that, too.” Spike emptied his beer glass and set it down. His fingers lingered on it for a moment, the words stuck in his throat. “Because … because you belong to him. One day he will tire of you as his play toy. When he does … run.”

 

They both glanced up to see Vicious returning to the table with a fresh vodka in hand. Without a word, he took up his cue and once more studied the groupings. Spike's remaining solid balls were in the way of any straightforward shot. Vicious leaned over and lined up the cue ball for a line through the mess. The intent clear to Spike, he followed the line across the table to the rail and back. He sniggered. Vicious choked his hold on the cue, drew it back and as he struck his phone vibrated, throwing it off.

 

The ball zipped through, nailed the rail and tapped into a solid, shifting it one inch. Spike burst into laughter. “Tough luck, pal! Can't take that shot back.”

 

He growled and yanked the phone out, accidentally hitting speaker.

 

“ _Vicious, is Spike with you?”_ Ironwall's voice crackled.

 

“Yeah. I'm here.” Spike chalked his cue while examining the table.

 

“What do you want, Ironwall?”

 

“ _Both of you get to the syndicate hanger. I'm calling everyone in on this. Take the zipcrafts toward the gate. We just got word that over an hour ago one of our transports got jacked. We need to get it back before he jumps.”_

 

Spike leaned over the table, lining up on the cue ball. “Yo, any way in particular you want the jacker?”

 

“ _The shipment is all that matters.”_

 

With a wild grin, Spike struck. He dropped the cue on the follow through and dashed toward the door. The remaining three solid balls each careened into the pockets in a chain reaction, knocking the stripes deftly out the way. The final ball, the eight, dropped in for an endgame as Vicious yelled, “Spike, wait—”

 

He held up a bulky key and winked. “Sorry partner. She's a one-seater and a helluva lot closer than the hanger. Looks like you're sitting this one out!”

 

“Spike!” The irate scream wasn't enough to slow him, not even one step.

 

*

 

In the  _ Swordfish's  _ cockpit, Spike leaned forward over the controls slashing through her start-up. Flight gloves on, he turned the bulky key and she roared to life, rumbling with only the brake keeping her in place. He released it and worked the foot pedals. Her answering whine pushed the machine forward, gunning up into the sky leaving twin trails off the wing tips.

 

Snicking on the com, he dialed through to a flabbergasted Ironwall.  _ “What are you doing?” _

 

“I'm en route. Need to know what I'm looking for before I get to the gate.”

 

“ _How did you get to … wait … this isn't from … ”_

 

“She was nearby and I've been waiting to try out my birthday present.” Spiraling up into the darkening sky, he watched for the gates to appear, hidden by the blazing daylight.

 

Ironwall heaved a sigh.  _ “Right. You're looking for a mid-sized transport. There's a rabbit on the side. It will appear to be one of the legit delivery company's. But if you look closely the rabbit has a red eye.” _

 

“Red-eyed rabbit darting for the gate. Got it.” Daylight fell away as he broke atmo. Ships drifted in the black, slow deliberate traffic to and from the gate's rings. Glancing at the scan up ahead he counted three possible ships the right size for his target. He could take  _ Swordfish  _ into the gate. She could travel in the slipspace, even though that wasn't her purpose. However, MONO racers were far too cramped for lengthy jumps. He had to nail this bastard before he passed the checkpoint. 

 

Weaving through the traffic, Spike narrowed his eyes as he approached the funnel point toward the gate. Ships of all sizes crowded in, most larger. Easing off the throttle, he slid by his first potential. The sides of the cumbersome ship were marked with a swishy spiral.

 

Nope.

 

He pushed up to the outside and gazed at the next one across the lines. The mid-sized vehicle was a private ship, a pleasure cruiser. Veering off, he wrapped around the outside of the jam trying to spot the last one.

 

“Should be somewhere around — there!” Coasting between two larger freight ships he spied the red-eyed rabbit winking at him. With his thumb, he released the cap over the primer for the plasma cannon. In the ship's undercarriage the gears engaged and the silver barrel dropped onto the turret with a soft clunk.

 

“Here bunny!” Cranking up the throttle, Spike flipped the  _ Swordfish  _ and sliced through the lines of ships, sending more than a few veering off in alarm. 

 

A few lengths away and his target noticed the approach. A bright blue comet tail lengthened behind the ship as they pushed deeper into the jam. The rabbit was a narrow vessel. But the smaller delivery craft was nothing compared to the sleek profile of the  _ Swordfish.  _

 

Spike rode the throttle wide open, darting and rolling around the larger vessels as the rabbit struggled to burrow in the only ground it could find. “Run rabbit, run!”

 

Run it did. Without weapons, maneuvers were all the jacker had. Tucking close to the hulls of the larger ships, he clearly hoped to remain undetected.

 

The ploy failed as Spike flipped and cut between the passing vessels. His eyes narrowed as he shot the gap of two full sized freighters.

 

“ _Ironwall. We're approaching the gate.”_ One of the team barked over the com.  _ “There's a commotion. You should see this. A single craft is engaged with a dog-fight with the jacked rabbit.” _

 

“ _Spike? Is that you?”_

 

“Yeah.” He rolled out of a near collision, his gaze locked straight ahead. “Sucker thinks he can go to ground in the sky. Fat chance! I'm on his ass.”

 

“ _Hellhound? No way!”_ The first voice squealed.  _ “Watch out!” _

 

Spike yanked back and to the right on the controls as hard as he could. The tip of his wing sent sparks off the small by-standing craft. “Tsh! Would you shut your trap and let me do this!” That disruption resulted in the rabbit finding a moment of cover. He leaned forward searching hard. “Damn it, where did he go?”

 

Looping back around, Spike peered in-between the vessels. A second later the red eye winked at him. Tearing the nose onto point he punched into the traffic. The rabbit darted, pushing out of the lanes and racing toward open space, aiming back toward Mars. Spike jammed the throttle on full and punched through. His thumb hit the charge, the plasma cannon crackled to life. Lining her up, Spike grinned. “3 … 2 … 1.”

 

The blast shot into the engine panel launching it off into a tumble. The vessel rocked violently to the side by the impact. Her comet tail guttered out.

 

“Not going anywhere without engines, pal!” Releasing the magnetic tow cable, Spike watched it impact the rabbit and engage. Backing off the throttle he edged ahead of her, passing by the cockpit smeared with blood. A spider webbing on the glass.

 

“ _Ironwall, the Hellhound nailed him. Rabbit has been retrieved.”_

 

“Dropping back into atmo with rabbit in tow. Hope you didn't want a word with the jacker. Physics bitch-slapped him pretty good.”  _ Swordfish _ bucked the moment the cable went under tension. “Hang on, old girl, you got this.”

 


	11. Session 11

_ **Session 11** _

 

“An entire casino orbiting around Mars.” Spike leaned against the glass of the descending elevator, his eyes danced around at all the glittering lights strobing on the multiple floors. Poker, Black Jack, Roulette, Craps … it was like a buffet. He practically salivated. His index finger caught the thin black tie at his neck and tugged the knot loose, settling at his collar bone. The dark blue double-breasted jacket with the two offset clasps left a surprising amount of room for his gun to ride and remain accessible. Of course there was nothing to be done for his unruly hair.

 

Vicious clicked his tongue. “Mao, would you please explain to me the reason behind bringing a compulsive gambler to a casino.”

 

“Tsh.” Spike pried himself from the glass and rammed his hands in his pockets, his rolled back sleeves resting just below his elbows. “I am a habitual gambler, not compulsive. There is a difference.”

 

Failing to hide the faint grin, Mao adjusted his suit jacket to cover the slight bulge of his concealed short blade. “I trust that your partner can handle this task like the professionals you both are. Do not forget that I requested both of you as my personal guards for a reason.”

 

Vicious drummed his fingers on his katana hilt. “Yes, and I am still perplexed as to why you didn't bring your usual muscle.”

 

Both Spike and Mao blinked at him. Spike cracked a grin. “You seriously haven't figured it out?” He grabbed Vicious by the shoulders and turned him toward the mirrored elevator door. “For just a moment forget how bad ass we are and just look at us. What do you see?”

 

Vicious lifted an eyebrow. “A monkey in a suit.”

 

“Well, you look like you're going to a funeral.”

 

“Just wait.”

 

“I know you hate to be reminded, but generally speaking, society sees us as nothing more than lanky teenagers. So when we walk out there, what are they going to think about Mao?” Spike jabbed a thumb at Mao who smiled wickedly.

 

“They'll think he's vulnerable.” Vicious straightened his tie. “Well now, that _is_ clever. So all we have to do is keep up the pleasure tour visit impression until the fools behind that attempted shipment heist walk into the trap.”

 

“The intel is good and has been verified.” Mao folded his hands behind his back. “Let them get close to me. Let them believe that you two aren't up to the task. I intend to deal with this in private. I trust you will both know when to step in if I need it.”

 

Lighting a cigarette, Spike half-lidded his eyes and slouched. “Time to roll the bones.” The doors opened and Mao paraded out, flanked by his handpicked boys.

 

Stylish people tossing an astonishing amount of cash around crowded the tables. Spike's eyes drifted everywhere as he followed in Mao's wake. The ploy of looking distracted became no ploy at all. His old habits flooded back and he found himself counting cards even as they passed the Black Jack table. Of course it meant for nothing the second the dealer performed a blind deck swap. Cheating. How else could they insure the house won?

 

He broke into a cold sweat the deeper into the casino they wandered. If he got into trouble Mao would be down a guard. The only way he could avoid trouble was by confining his wayward hands deep in his pockets. He hustled to catch up to Mao and Vicious pressing through the crowd.

 

A skimpily clad waitress edged by holding her tray up, her lip set in a firm pout as she pushed a gambler's hand off her rump.

 

Spike winked at her. “I'd love a tequila sunrise by you.”

 

“I'm not a bartender.” She inclined her nose. “And if you meant something else by that, take it back before I lay you out on the deck.”

 

He smugly met her gaze. “That's kinda the idea.”

 

The waitress lifted the tray and was about to bring it down across his head when her determination wilted and she stepped back, bringing the tray tight in front of her. Quickly she scampered off.

 

“Mmm?” Spike turned and scratched his head. There in the distance he spied a group of unabashed goon muscle accompanying a lady in a feathery stole over a blue silk gown with an embroidered serpent. Her confidence screamed senior ranked syndicate, possibly even capo.

 

Mao paused and looked back over his shoulder. Noting Spike's gaze he followed it to the staircase. Out of the corner of Spike's eyes he caught the faintest nod from Mao. Their snake had arrived. The game had begun.

 

*

 

Seated at the table, Mao idly glanced at his phone. Over each shoulder stood his guards, the sullen Vicious to one side, and the lazy eyed Spike slouching at his other.

 

The waitress Spike had harassed earlier swept a large plate with a garnished lobster before Mao. “Anything else for you, Mao Yenrai?”

 

“Perhaps a fine wine to go with this. Whatever you would suggest. Bring the bottle.” As she left, he dribbled the glaze over his meal.

 

Spike's eyes cracked open a bit wider, his growling stomach accompanying his whispered question, “Is that a Ganymede Rock Lobster?”

 

“Yes.” Mao murmured. “You're not supposed to be watching my meal. Where is Lady Cersei?”

 

Hanging his head, Spike pretended to clean out his ear with a finger. The awkward gesture rewarded him with a glance through his hair of the target in the corner booth. “Same place with her sides of beef. Looks like she ordered an appetizer.”

 

Denied a clear view, Vicious grunted. “Stop looking at her food.”

 

“I wasn't talking about chicken wings. There's a guy in the booth with her and another set of goons.”

 

Mao tucked a morsel of flaky lobster into his mouth and chewed before remarking. “Anyone we know?”

 

Spike snuck another glance. “Tall guy, about Ironwall's age, glasses. Scar on his cheek. Kinda looks like someone took a blow torch to him.”

 

“Samson Dupree. Well now, looks like Cersei had a buyer for the shipment she tried to lift. Does he seem upset?”

 

“Heh. Well, not anymore.” He elbowed Vicious. “I had no idea a couple can tango in a corner booth.”

 

With a sigh, Vicious rolled his eyes.

 

Mao's eyebrow lifted. “Interesting.”

 

“Recon?” Vicious drummed his fingers on his katana hilt.

 

“Stay. We'll tail them to their rooms unless another opportunity presents itself.”

 

The waitress set down a bottle of white wine, her gaze flicked to the sultry pair and then back to Spike and Vicious. “Suite two-eighty-five, if you're after that asshole.”

 

Spike blinked, but kept still otherwise. “Wow. The waitresses are tough here when you stiff their tip.”

 

She balled up her fist in front of her, hidden from Samson. “He demanded a room service that we don't provide.”

 

“Ooookay.” He flashed her a flirtatious grin to move closer to her. “Any requests?”

 

Her face scrunched up. “Neuter him.”

 

“I like your style, toots.” Spike laughed, his eyes caught the slight wave of Mao's hand. “Hey Mao, thinkin' I might need to stretch my legs a bit. Coming, Vicious?”

 

“Maybe in a bit.”

 

Meandering toward the staircase, Spike passed close by the table, one last glance to mark each of the company before he leisurely left the dining room. _Suite two-eighty-five, eh?_

 

*

 

Samson Dupree sauntered down the hallway followed by his two muscular thugs. “I don't have much time to get ready. By now Cersei will be putting the moves on the Red Dragon geezer.”

 

One of his men pounded a fist into his palm, “Did you see his guards? Hah! Those twigs will break just looking at them. Can't wait to close this deal and grind some fresh burger.” Each time he smacked his meaty palm, it popped.

 

“Patience.” Samson waved his key card in front of the reader. “I'll let you play with the chew toys once the time is right. I'll be out in a minute.”

 

The door shut. They took up their place outside.

 

A whistled jazz tune carried down the hallway. They looked up to see one of Mao's boys wandering their direction. Hands in his pockets, head bowed, slouched.

 

They grinned at one another.

 

 


	12. Session 12

_ **Session 12** _

 

“What's a handsome man like you doing here alone?” Cersei batted her eyes, sliding into the seat opposite Mao.

 

He blushed and tipped the bottle of wine, pouring her a glass. “Just enjoying a bit of a bonus. Business has been going well for me, but I suspect I'll burn my cash out there on the floor. I'm glad you joined me, some company for dinner would be nice.”

 

Vicious stood silently with his hands folded in front of him. This was no _lady_ , and he damn-well knew it. Across the table, Cersei's four thugs lined up with their backs to her. However, Mao remained perfectly relaxed engaging in an idle conversation with the minx. Nothing. They could have been talking about the weather while picking at the remaining lobster until the candle burnt down.

 

“Oh my.” Cersei stumbled on her feet. “I'm afraid I have had too much to drink. Would you be a dear and escort me to my room?”

 

“Of course, my delicate flower.” Mao rose and offered his arm to her. Her goons followed immediately after and Vicious took up the rear. Watching, waiting.

 

*

 

Spike ambled up to the two guards. He paused and blinked at them, looking head to toe with a cocked eyebrow. At this point the oblivious duo examined their suits, one exclaiming, “What?”

 

“You guys look so … ” he searched for the word, “ … intimidating. The cut of the jackets. Heh. Are those shoulder pads to make you look bigger? Nice! And with those accessories, full packaged deal.” He reached out and ran a hand down one the ties. “Is that satin? How do you keep the stains from setting in? I mean, I just got my suit and that's what I worry about.”

 

Flabbergasted they couldn't even find words to reply as Spike tugged on their jackets, continuing, “What kind of cut is this?”

 

“Single breast.”

 

“Is that cut roomy? Turn around, oh hey, those aren't pads, that's actually you. Yeah, that's not bad across the shoulders. That's what I was worried about. You know. A guy's gotta be able to move. If it's too snug here, well then … ” He delivered a hard strike to the side of the distracted goon's head. The mountain crumpled in a heap.

 

Startled, the second reached into his jacket. Panic overtook him as he came up empty handed.

 

Spike held up a Glock. “Looking for this?”

 

The color drained from his face. Spike tossed the gun into the air. The goon scrambled to reach up for it only to lunge straight into a strike against his throat. Cartilage crackled and popped. He wheezed and dropped on top of the other one. Spike caught the falling gun and spun it into his pocket. “Now the one thing I like about mine is the pockets. All this room to store stuff.” He pulled out a small digital lock pick. “I mean, where else would I keep all my toys? Oh, no need to get up. I already let myself in earlier.”

 

The light flashed green and he walked right in.

 

Samson called over his shoulder. “Are you two complete morons? I said wait outside.” He jerked upright and did a double-take at the thin silhouette in the door. “Who the fuck are you, kid?”

 

Spike grinned, and shut the door behind him. “Room service.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Samson lifted a finger. “Wait a second. I think I recognize you. You're one of those young punks with Mao Yenrai.”

 

“Perceptive.” He tucked his hands in his pockets, but remained where he was, a barricade to the prey's escape.

 

“Well, kid, you've made a serious mistake.” Samson cracked his knuckles and called out, “Get in here, you two!”

 

Nothing happened. The certainty faded from Samson's face, puckering the scar.

 

“Two things.” Spike held up his fingers and ticked them off. “One, if your boys were alive and let me pass they wouldn't be doing their job. Two, and most importantly, they wouldn't hear you anyway. These rooms are rather sound proof thanks to the usual activities that take place in here. Nice heart throw pillows. Really adds to the atmosphere.”

 

A slight choking noise filled the gap. Samson swallowed his shock and replaced his cocky front. “I'm going to bury you. Don't you know who I am?”

 

“Samson Dupree. Independent black market dealer specializing in the movements of various substances, typically arms. Most recently trying to get his hands on a shipment of Purple Eye. But too inept pull it off on his own, needed some help from a Blue Snake capo to rig the deal. My guess is Cersei's going to move and grab Mao.”

 

“If she is you should be guarding him, you little prick.”

 

“Shit, he's well protected. That's why he brought the two of us instead of just one. You know, for the set-up, in case the Blue Snake thought to ransom him for the original shipment that went foul the other day.”

 

“Foul?” He stiffened.

 

“Oh? She didn't tell you about that?” Spike smirked. “Probably because her errand boy never made it out of Mar's orbit. His ass got lit up by a plasma cannon.”

 

The tension in Samson's face betrayed the truth. He hadn't known.

 

“You think Mao's here by coincidence? Hah, well, I guess you're not as perceptive as you thought. Since I'm here, though, I do want to make a deal with you.”

 

Samson folded his arms across his chest. “What could you possibly want from me?”

 

*

 

Lady Cercei's multi-room suite was the picture of lavish luxury. She reclined on the overstuffed couch beside a rather relaxed Mao. Wrapping her barefoot around his leg, she draped an arm over his shoulder. Vicious sat in the adjacent sitting room with two of her hired muscle on the couch opposite him. The remaining two goons stood idle in the living room. The grins on the two in the same room with him stirred Vicious's desire to end this. The only thing stopping him was Mao's strict orders. It was not yet time. He resigned himself to sitting with his arms crossed, hand inches from the hilt of his katana. All a matter of time.

 

“Mao, what an amusing man you have proven to be. I'm so glad I decided to crash your dinner and have a few words with you.” Cersei ran her hand up into his scant black hair. “Business partners are so difficult to find, everyone is so leery of getting into bed together. But I think you have a commodity that could prove … ” she edged in closer, nibbling his ear, “profitable.”

 

“Oh my.” He blushed and shifted away from her mouthing. “I must confess that it has been some years since a young lady showed me this kind of interest.”

 

“Well, I'm a rather aggressive trader. When I see something I want,” she began to draw the feathered stole around Mao, “I take it.” With one savage yank she pulled it tight around his neck.

 

It lasted less than a split second. The stole hung from her hands in two pieces. She blinked into Mao's grinning face, his hand held up the short blade. “Lady Cersei, I trust that wasn't your only move?”

 

*

 

Spike selected a Walther PPK from the laid out cache of firearms on Samson's bed. He check the mag as he walked back toward the bathroom. “You know, this is a pretty decent piece of hardware from your collection. Does it have a history?”

 

“What do you want?” Samson rasped. He stood in the shower stall, his hands tethered by his belt up above his head. Close to a dozen holes weeped blood onto his expensive white suit.

 

“I already told you. I'm after a decent sidearm that can hit a small target. Most of your stock is good. But not quite up to the task.” Spike stared down the sight.

 

“Don't!” Samson cringed. “AHH! Would you stop … gah, my leg!”

 

“Damn, nope not this one. She favors the left.” Turning on his heel, Spike went back to the stock.

 

“I'll give you anything! Just stop!” The voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

 

Digging into the bag, Spike muttered, “Crap. Cheap … that's a knockoff. Oh, what's this? Damn, that's got some heft to it.” He pulled out the mag of the Jericho 941 and loaded in a 9mm bullet. Walking back to the bathroom he turned it in his grip. “Serious shit here.” A red beam tracked across the wall. “Ooo, laser sight, custom grips. That feels nice. But looks aren't work a woolong. How does she handle?”

 

Samson screamed and thrashed as the red beam lit up his gold jacket button.

 

“Hold still!” Spike followed the jerking target and fired.

 

_**Bang! Pa-ting!** _ The button turned inward like a pop rivet, leaving Samson shrieking in pain from the impact.

 

“Dead straight. Impressive. I like this. The weight is nice in my hand and she's got a nice response on the trigger. This is what I'm talking about. A reliable piece of hardware. With all this metal she's sure to hold up.” Spike plucked out a cigarette and lit it.

 

“Fine, fine!” Samson panted. “Take it. It's yours.”

 

“Oh, there's no negotiating that.” He loaded another bullet into the mag and rammed it home. “But I still owe you. Like I said. I needed a gun that could hit a very—small—target.”

 

Samson followed the laser beam as it dropped down his body until it stopped.

 

“No more s _ex on the beach_ for you, pal.” 

 

*

 

“Lady Cersei, I trust that wasn't your only move?”

 

The muscle on the couch twitched to rise. Vicious's blade changed their minds. The katana slashed across their throats. They fell backward, hands flailing to staunch the blood. Wasting no time, Vicious burst through the doorway evading a swing from one goon he slashed the other all the way up his arm, opening a large artery. His blade followed through and stabbed the chest of the other muscle, pinning him to the wall until he wrenched the blade free from the body.

 

He wiped it off and resheathed his sword. On the couch, Mao reclined drinking a glass of wine. Beside him, Lady Cersei's body lay limp, her shocked eyes staring sightless at the ceiling.

 

The door slid open, Spike strode in with a large black bag clanking over his shoulder, the Jericho still in his right hand. He glanced around and snorted. “Damn, I missed the party.”

 

Vicious inclined his nose. “What took you so long?”

 

“Samson and I were shooting the shit.” Spike held up the gun. “Had to find a suitable tool up to the task. Turns out he won't be missing it, or any of these.”

 

Setting the wine glass on the table, Mao glanced over his shoulder. “Is he finished?”

 

“So finished he'll be well preserved. Did you know some of these rooms have full fridges. Oh yeah, her's does too.”

 

Mao rose, “Then we are done here.”

 

Spike glanced out the door. “Uhh … you know, Mao, it will be at least six hours before they find the bodies and lock this place down. We have time to … if I could … Please? I promise I won't win enough to be noticed!”

 

Vicious crossed his arms and muttered to himself.

 

With a single lift of his hand, Mao released Spike. He watched his protege dash down the hall and chuckled.

 

Vicious glared. “Mao, you unleashed a monster.”

 

“The threat is neutralized, Vicious. Why don't you go an enjoy yourself for a bit?”

 

He picked up the bag Spike had dropped in his haste. “I'll load this donation on the ship.”

 

 


	13. Session 13

_ **Session 13** _

 

Midnight. Shadows encased the alley. The metal protective cover of a light over the warehouse door squealed each time the breeze caught it. Shards of glass from the shattered bulb lay in a line pushed aside into the rut of the swinging door.

 

Spike and Vicious peered around the corner observing the shadows for at least five minutes. “Looks like it's clear, Spike. Let's get this over with.”

 

Crossing the alley with Vicious at his shoulder, Spike grumbled, “I can't believe that the government tried to stash high grade tech in this neighborhood. Did they seriously consider that the syndicate wouldn't catch word? Think they misunderstood the idea of hiding in plain sight.”

 

“Just be glad we _did_ hear of it. Though I was surprised to get the call from Ironwall with such an urgent timeline.”

 

“Apparently, the government is moving it out tomorrow. We either snag it tonight, or it will involve breaking through higher security.” He knelt down and examined the lock on the door. “Heh, well, this is gonna suck.”

 

“You're in a mood tonight.” Vicious scanned the alley from the new angle.

 

“Damned pair of cats decided to have a spat outside my window.” Spike bent close to the lock, working his picks into it. “Least I think they were fighting. I dunno, maybe they were dancing the lambada. Doesn't matter. I was just getting back to sleep when a dog found them and raised holy hell. I swear the universe was conspiring against me getting even a wink of sleep. Took me a bit to hunt them down and get back into bed just in time to get Ironwall's call. But no, I'm in a great mood, why do you ask?” Spike growled, fighting with the lock.

 

“Can you hurry this up? Usually you're faster.”

 

“Yeah, well usually I can see what the hell I'm doing. You want to get in before dawn?” He fished his lighter out and tossed it. “Help.”

 

Vicious flicked the lighter and held the meager flame next the lock.

 

Spike's dexterous fingers worked in the dim light, until …  _ click. _ He yanked the lock off and pulled the latch. “Alright, let's grab it … oh.” Lingering in the doorway, his shoulders dropped.

 

“What is it?” Vicious pushed into the darkened warehouse.

 

In the center of the mostly cleared out room, a locked armored truck sat up on blocks. The wheels were no where in sight. “Heh, well, we ain't driving it out of here. Damn. There goes plan A.”

 

They approached the rear door. “Maybe we can carry it out. Can you pick the lock?”

 

“If I had a few days, maybe. These aren't standard. Good thing I brought some C-4. That should be able to get though if I use enough.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small brick.

 

Vicious blinked, remarking acidly, “You didn't have one already set?”

 

“No.” Spike muttered, fishing tape out of his pocket. “I don't make it a habit to pre-assemble unless I have a specific job. This won't take long.” He cut off a decent chunk and secured it to the door below the lock with a few strips of tape.

 

The shuffling of feet outside the door caught Vicious's attention. He stiffened. “We don't have time for this.”

 

“Give me a second, I just need to place the detonator.” From his pocket Spike took out the remote ignitor and knelt closer to the door, preparing to push it into the clay-like substance.

 

“Screw this!” Vicious pulled out the Colt Commander and aimed directly for the lock.

 

**BANG! PING!**

 

Time slowed as the bullet flashed out of the muzzle on a direct line for the reinforced door.

 

It struck the lock and ricocheted on a slight downward angle.

 

Spike's head jerked back to the right. His body followed, landing hard on his right side.

 

The gun fell from Vicious's limp fingers. Kneeling beside Spike he grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him onto his back. Unconscious, Spike's chest barely rose in a shallow breath. Blood welled through his right eyelid, dripping down the side of his face.

 

_ No! Get up, you stupid fool!  _ Vicious had no more time to consider his partner's condition. 

 

Three men shoved their way into the warehouse. “ISSP! Freeze!”

 

Drawing his sword, Vicious dug his foot into the filthy floor. He glared at the officers. Perhaps there was a chance to come out of this like a hero. Protect his fallen partner! Without preamble, he tore forward into the middle one slicing away through the hastily aimed gun. He'd left no chance for the shot to be fired.

 

_ Have to make this look good!  _ Vicious drove the last two around the room. He rammed his blade against their guns every time they attempted to fire. Their wide eyes gazed in terror as they staggered with half a dozen cuts from the cruel katana. 

 

Outside, more gunfire erupted punctuated by shouts. Vicious ducked under the frenzied attack of one of the officers. He came up with a long slash across the torso. The wounded man fell backward. The last one turned to run. He received a slice up the back ending with a powerful thrust into the neck. The body slid off the sword.

 

Jovi dashed in the door, leading with his gun. Spying Spike he ran toward him. “Hellhound! What happened?” Skidding into a crouch his eyes darted everywhere, they came to a fearful rest on Vicious.

 

“The impetuous fool drew his gun. Tried to shoot the truck. I was unable to stop him in time.” Vicious rammed his sword back in its sheath. “I had to take care of the ISSP on my own.”

 

Breaking the intense stare, Jovi tore a strip of fabric off his shirt and carefully bound Spike's eye. Blood seeped through. “He needs help, immediately. This is a serious injury.”

 

Vicious bent down and picked Spike up. “I'll take him. You finish here.”

 

_ Let them tell the story. You see, Spike? I have your back. _ Striding like a war hero through the gaggle of team members out in the alley, Vicious carried Spike's unconscious body already hearing the praise for his bravery echoing in his head.

 

*

 

Mao pounded his fist against the private waiting room wall. “Ironwall, you mean to tell me that blasted truck was empty?”

 

The senior officer nodded, offering Vicious a sympathetic glance. Vicious tucked his head with a grunt as Ironwall continued, “After they were certain the ISSP threat was eliminated, Jovi blasted it open. There was nothing. We have to face facts, it was a trap. One with a costly price.”

 

“Damn right.” Mao paced back and forth. “You have no idea how many strings I had to pull for this procedure. And we don't even know if it will be successful. But Spike is too valuable of an asset to lose. Especially with the other syndicates still pushing to get into our territory.”

 

“It's been eleven hours. Is he out of surgery yet?”

 

“He's in recovery. They say it may be some time before he wakes due to the impact of the bullet. Luckily it lost a lot of momentum when it hit the door. The malformed projectile cracked the lower right side of his bone but remained in the socket. He'll be immobilized for a few days to make certain the neuro-connection takes, something about the delicate nature of the retina.” He shook his head. “If it doesn't take … Spike will be half blind.”

 

Ironwall tightened his fist. “That would be unfortunate. He would be ineffective.”

 

“I'll let you know what I hear. Your men did well on cleaning up that mess.” Mao sunk down into the chair and rested his head in his hand. Only the ticking clock filled the silence for close to another hour.

 

At last, a nurse opened the door. “He's still unconscious, but you can see him.”

 

Mao rose and stared with bleary eyes at the dark figure in the corner of the room. “Vicious … I thought you left with Ironwall.”

 

He stood stiffly. “How could I leave without knowing the fate of my … partner?”

 

“I'm sorry, Vicious.” Mao tried to offer a hand.

 

He brushed it off. “The idiot shot himself.”

 

They followed the nurse to the darkened room. Restrained on his back, Spike's head was in a brace to keep it one position should he regain consciousness. Bandages blacked out all light to both his eyes. His steady breathing accompanied the beep of his pulse on the machine. Strong and even.

 

Mao slipped past Vicious at the door and approached the side of the bed. He rested his hand on Spike's, careful of the IV nearby. There was no sign Spike registered his presence. “You're destined for more than this, Spike. You  _ must _ heal. The syndicate needs your strength. Please. Wake up.”

 

The steady beat remained unchanged. Mao bowed his head.

 

*

 

“Easy Spike.” The doctor eased the bandage away. “It's been enough days now, we need to see if things took.”

 

“Gah!” Spike winced, shutting both eyes tight. His right was still blackened by the bruise, a thin incision marred his skin by the temple. No one had warned him about the piercing light. “Too bright!” Freed from the head brace, he tried to turn his head and his stomach protested. Waves of disorientation swirled the world. He nearly passed out.

 

“Lie still and keep both eyes shut for a few breaths.” The doctor set a hand on his shoulder. “The lights are dimmed. I'm going to attach a probe to your temple. We may need to adjust some of the programming.”

 

“Programming?” Spike muttered, cracking his left eye open. “What programming?”

 

“The biological eye is a very complex organ. A synthetic eye requires a micro-computer.”

 

The pain in Spike's skull crushed any curiosity. “Don't care … just get this over with … I know, I whined about the bandages … well, I want them back now. Please.”

 

“If I got a  _ please _ from you I know you mean it. Alright. We'll make this quick. I need you to stare straight ahead for thirty seconds when you open your eyes. That will give me the reading and we'll know if the retina link worked.”

 

“It better have.” Spike grunted. “I'm not going through this shit again.”

 

“Whenever you are ready. Remember. Thirty seconds.”

 

Taking a deep breath Spike gathered his resolve.  _ Thirty seconds is nothing _ . Slowly, he cracked open both eyes. Against the swelling he struggled to keep the right one from snapping shut. The light levels didn't match, someone could have been shining a flood light in his right eye and it would have been less irritating. Against his will his head turned a touch. The entire world swirled, the pictures failed to match. Spike's stomach twisted into violent knots.

 

“Steady. Almost got it.”

 

It burned. Like a hot brand pressed into his temple. Spike hissed against the sensation, his fingers tangled in the blanket.

 

“Done.”

 

He buried his face in the covers, tears squeezing out from his left eye. The right, unable to shed a single tear. The pain barely abated in the blessed dark.

 

“The good news is it's a full signal. We have to dial in the programming a bit. But you have full vision. Get some rest. As soon as we have the setting right, we can release you.” His shoes squeaked on the floor. The door clicked shut.

 

Spike burrowed deeper into the covers.  _ Lancing pain … I can't live like this … don't let it be like this! Why did I draw my gun? Why did I shoot the damn truck? I know better! _

 

_I. Know. Better._

 

*

 

Vicious lingered in the door of the guest bedroom at Mao's mansion. Spike slept restlessly in the bed, a bandage only covered his right eye. Released from the hospital, he'd been here for a couple of days now but hadn't been able to leave the bed yet. Even lifting his head nearly caused him to black out. There was no arguing, Spike was in rough shape.

 

A faint moan broke the drawn out silence. Spike's left eye cracked open taking a moment to focus. It didn't surprise Vicious, the drugs they were giving him were strong. Yet another reason he remained abed. A sluggish smile pulled to the left of Spike's mouth. “Hey … when did you get here?” His slurred speech almost made Vicious laugh.

 

Approaching the bed, Vicious grabbed a chair and moved it closer. “I don't have much to do lately with you laid up. So I figured I'd check and see how my idiot partner is fairing.”

 

Spike winced. “I could use the room not spinning … but I guess I have to wait for that.”

 

“You're supposed to be keeping that bandage off more, getting used to the new eye.”

 

“Easier said than done,” he sighed.

 

“Do it, Spike.” Vicious gripped his wrist. “You don't understand. The syndicate is in danger and because of what happened to you, Mao won't let me run on my own. Ironwall needs us. You must fight through this injury and bury the disappointment they have in you.”

 

Spike's left eye stared at the grip on his own wrist. He tried to speak a few times, but only snatches of words came out.

 

“Pathetic.” Vicious tossed his wrist back onto the bed and turned to go. “You are weak.”

 

“Vicious … ” Spike murmured, “Please … when I can … I need you to help me. Will you help me?”

 

Leaning against the door, Vicious nodded. “I am your partner. Call me. I will _always_ do what is best for you.”

 

*

 

Days passed, Spike dragged himself from beneath the covers and shuffled along the wall, using it to help maintain his balance for the short trip to the bathroom. With the eye blacked out in bandages, the world spun a little less frequently, but still enough that he didn't dare to try anything quickly. 

 

Pausing with his hands on the sink. He shut his left eye and took a few deep breaths to let the wave of nausea pass. When he dared to open it again, he glazed at his reflection in the mirror. The white wrapping concealed the source of his torment. Through the haze of the pain-killers, needles of irritation pricked at the side of his face.

 

Spike inched his fingers up and tugged the bandage off. The puffy lid of his right eye remained discolored, a faded brown. Tightening his grip on the sink he cracked the lid open, fighting the urge to shut it as the light lanced it in blinding rays. He swallowed down the waves of building nausea as the surface came into view.

 

The new right eye gleamed with a coppery hue, the iris a few shades brighter than his natural one. Painfully slowly he blinked, the right responding sluggishly. Blinking didn't fix the problem. Two different eyes stared back at him. Every foreign sensation amplified, he winced against the vibrations of the micro-servos adjusting the pupil.

 

Inch by inch, Spike's head bowed. He stared down blankly at his trembling hands on the edge of the sink unable to make amends with his vision.

 

_What have I done?_

 

 


	14. Session 14

_ **Session 14** _

 

“Again.” Dragging his bruised body off the dojo floor, Spike shut his right eye and rubbed the puffy lid. The ridge line of folded flesh along his temple dripped with a thin rivulet of blood.

 

Vicious eyed the array of black and blue blossoms all over his opponent, the greater concentration on his right side. While Spike dripped with sweat, Vicious's skin remained bone-dry.  _ Too easy. _ He twisted his foot on the mat and grinned.  _ This is the best day of my life. Well, he keeps asking for it. You want it, you got it—Partner! _

 

Driving toward Spike's weak side, Vicious delivered a series of hard blows, targeting the previous bruises. Each time he contacted, Spike's involuntary huff of breath rewarded him. Under the barrage, Spike dropped any attempt to strike. He instinctively cowered beneath both arms turning the right side of his face away.

 

With a hard kick to the chest, Vicious sent him into a tumble across the room into the wall.

 

Crumpled in a heap, Spike lay panting with his hands pulsing into fists. “Damn it! … I just can't … can't keep it open … ”

 

“Pathetic.” Vicious snuffed. “Even more than when you were lying limp in the middle of the warehouse with a bullet lodged in your eye leaving me to deal with the ISSP squad that jumped us.”

 

Spike trembled as he attempted to crawl up the wall. With his right eye shut he glared at his sparring partner. “I called you to Mao's for a reason and it wasn't to hear you bitch at me.” In a staggering gait he freed himself from the wall. The swollen eyelid peeked open. For a moment, Spike teetered before leveling out with a deep breath. Right eye targeted over his bruised right hand knuckles, centered on Vicious. “I gotta get my aim back.”

 

“What are you waiting for, coward?”

 

Roaring, Spike charged on a straight collision course. He never made it. Vicious slid back out of the way, in a move that previously would have been far too slow against an agile Spike. From behind he drove his elbow in-between Spike's shoulders.

 

In a wordless cry, Spike failed to catch himself and landed hard on his shoulder.

 

Vicious laughed and cracked his knuckles. “Leonard's first-years would dance circles around you. Shit, Spike, just cover that useless eye up and find another job. Maybe Mao needs a house servant.”

 

“Tch. Piss off!” He dragged himself up and took another sloppy run which only resulted in Vicious catching his arm and flipping him into the mat.

 

“Stay down.” Vicious slapped him across the face. “It's all because of you that I've been pulled off-duty too. Klutz.”

 

Through the stinging, Spike took a deep breath, his limbs gathered beneath him. He shut both eyes as Vicious stood up. Concentrating hard, he stiffened his whole body. His eyes snapped open into a intense glare focused on one thing. Without warning, he sprang through Vicious's hasty guard and slammed his palms into alternating strikes. The aim drilled in, tighter and tighter. The distorted perception of the mismatching eyes made him dizzy, but he squinted and ignored the wave. Subjected to the rain of fists, he forced Vicious to retreat under the staggered attack. Sloppy, though it was, gradually Spike dialed in his aim and the blows gained power. Insanity gleamed in his brutal gaze and he savagely pounded on Vicious.

 

The door to the dojo flew open, Leonard burst in. “Vicious! What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Vicious could only spare a glance between blows. “Answering a request from Spike.”

 

Wrapping an arm around Spike's heaving chest, Leonard dragged him back. “Spike, snap out of it!Knock it off!”

 

Vicious drew his fist back.

 

In mid motion Leonard caught it and deflected. “You have done enough damage here. Go.” In his arms, Spike's struggling diminished. His glazed eyes stared through heavy eyelids. Every breathe was a gasp until he sagged against his sensei's chest. Relaxing the grip, Leonard lost count of how many bruises marred Spike's body, so much worse than the small scar by his eye. He sighed, “Oh Spike, what have you done?”

 

*

 

The bitter aroma of the healing salve permeated the air of the guest bedroom. Leonard placed the end of a bandage in Spike's palm and slowly passed the strand over the swollen knuckles. Spike's slack face lay against the pillow, lumps and bruises discolored by the salve pushing against his pale skin. Every breath rose and fell, not with relaxation. The body in that bed lay seized like an engine run without oil.

 

Footsteps in the hallway paused at the door. Still dressing Spike's battered hand, Leonard remarked, “Mao, we must speak and that time is now. He won't hear you. The boy is dead to the world after the adrenaline surge scorched him. He will sleep the clock through twice and never know it.”

 

Mao approached the side of the bed, a cross expression on his face. “How did this happen?”

 

Tucking the end of the bandage, Leonard laid Spike's hand down and capped the salve container. “No door is locked to him. You know that. After a few words with Vicious I have an idea of what transpired. Spike called him here eager to spar in an attempt to hone his vision again. I anticipated Spike would suffer some ill effects until his brain learns to work with the foreign eye. I would have expected this direct tactic from Vicious, but not from Spike. Mao, did he hear you?”

 

“Hear me when?”

 

“When you spoke to the Van? Does Spike comprehend that they have paid for the surgery? Does he know what the true price is? That would at least explain his insane approach.”

 

“No.” Mao flinched. “At least, I don't think he heard. What difference does it make?”

 

Leonard sighed, and placed a hand on Spike's bandaged shoulder. “Every difference for a boy who already bears the guilt of a reckless accident. It is no wonder why he sought a shortcut to reconnect the perception.”

 

“He is strong. He will be alright.”

 

“Mao.” Leonard stood and faced him. “My brother works in transplant rehabilitation. I have an idea of how long it takes for someone with a surgery like Spike's to adapt. The median time frame is two months. Spike just tried to force it in a handful of hours. Look at the results.”

 

In the bed, the only sign Spike still lived was his breathing. Not even his eyes shifted beneath the lids. Mao swallowed hard. Spike had done this to himself, repeatedly thrashing against a proverbial brick wall and trying break through. Mao's eyes squeezed shut. “A few days ago … he may have overheard me mentioning to Ironwall that the boys would be needed as soon as possible. Things are getting tense out there again. Leonard I—”

 

“Brought him to this state. And his recovery will be that much more difficult because now it is not just physical.” Turning to Mao he fixed him with a firm glare. “Vicious is to leave and not return to the dojo until I permit it.”

 

“But ...”

 

“No. That is not what Spike needs and his presence will only make my task more difficult. Once Spike awakens he will work with me in the dojo and that is all he will do. While I instruct the other boys I expect him to drill off to the side. If even a speck of my former student remains, Spike will comprehend this.” Taking the salve he padded to the door. “I don't expect him to, though. I anticipate a fight first.”

 

*

“This is a mistake, Mao!” Vicious pounded his palm with a fist, pacing the length of Mao's great room like a tiger. “He needs to be challenged.”

 

Folding his hands in finality, Mao leaned back on the sofa and remarked, “Your partner is challenged sufficiently at the moment.”

 

He stopped in his tracks. “So you're telling me that until Spike's back to himself neither of us is running?”

 

Mao nodded.

 

“Bullshit! I don't need that clumsy stray dog running at my shoulder.”

 

“You have your orders, Vicious. Go home. I'll send word when Spike is active again.”

 

Bristling, Vicious clenched his fists. “I don't need him, Mao. I'm strong enough on my own.”

 

“You have your orders.” Mao's hands sank into his lap, his right edged back toward his holstered gun, the challenging glint in his subordinate's eyes edged his nerves. The only thing saving him from being shot was that he hadn't reached for his blade.

 

With a growl, Vicious turned and stormed out of the room. The moment he left, Mao exhaled and rested his head in his hands. “You refuse to acknowledge that without him you are unhinged.”

 


	15. Session 15

_ **Session 15** _

 

Spike stood in the middle of the empty dojo, his bruised eyes stared at the bandage still wrapped around his hand. When he had woken, he tried to take it off and only winced for his efforts. His fingers struggled to move around the swelling. After choking down the meal waiting on the bedside table he glanced at the note from his sensei and made his way down to the dojo with his right eye shut. It was easier to walk like this for now. His body protested every motion but all he wanted to do was pummel a target until his world stabilized again.

 

_Fuckin' eye._

 

Lying in bed would not get him there. So despite the lumps and bruises, he rolled his shoulders and sank into a fighting stance. The fabric of his sleeveless shirt rubbing against the bandage over his shoulder.

 

“What do you think you are doing?”

 

Spike twisted and hissed at the ache it produced. “Getting my focus back.”

 

Leonard strode up with his hands in his pockets. “Not like that you're not. You've shredded enough of your body.”

 

“Tch, well I'm not smearing more of that shit on me and crawling back in bed. That's not gonna work!”

 

With a side-eye, Leonard waited for the uncomfortable silence to stretch and Spike to drop his shoulders. “Today the only thing you will be doing is Happy Dragon and Dancing Phoenix.”

 

“Fuck I will!” Spike tried to jab a finger at his sensei but it ended up being his whole hand, the swollen fingers refused to bend out of the way.

 

“You will. Fifteen times until your trembling limbs can hold it steady.” Leonard watched as Spike rolled his eyes. “And now, for your insolence, you will do it fifteen more.”

 

“What? A waste of time. I don't need to do that relaxation shit.”

 

“Mmm hmm. You look perfectly relaxed. Now, first pose.”

 

After a defiant pause, Spike huffed a breath and drew himself up straight, bare feet at shoulder width. Under the scrutiny of his sensei he began the gentle flow form, his arms and legs jerking with the effort against the still swollen injuries.

 

“Breathe. Concentrate on slow, fluid motions. The happy dragon plays with his ball … ”

 

Spike snarled just above his breath, “I'll shove the damn ball up the happy dragon's ass—Gah!”

 

Leonard cuffed his student. “Lift the ball higher.”

 

“That's as high as I can go.”

 

“And who's fault is that?”

 

Spike hooded his eyes, a remark beneath his breath.

 

“Smoother. You're shaking.” Leonard paced around in a circle barking at his frustrated pupil who wobbled like an uneven stool. His dragon was drunk. The phoenix, a grouse in his death throws. In truth it wasn't precisely fair to demand the form so many times, but Leonard remained firm as he watched each cycle creap closer to resembling what it should.

 

Somewhere around twenty nine cycles or so, a squad of preteen boys funneled in through the doorway. Leonard's youngest pupils to groom for the syndicate had arrived from their nearby dorm provided by Mao. They eyed Spike, who fortunately by now concentrated too hard on the form to notice anything. His sour expression proved to Leonard that his pupil still hadn't grasped the lesson.

 

“Hold that pose.” He barked as Spike spread out his phoenix wings high and wide. The posture placed a load on his shoulder, he trembled. “Three breaths. No speeding up your breathing. If you do, three more.”

 

Spike shot him a scowl, but he didn't move. On the third exhale he swooped down into the flow muttering a few curses that did not escape the sensei.

 

“Last one, half speed. Make it count. Smooth.”

 

If the dark glare that greeted that remark had been a blade Leonard would have been disemboweled. Spike slowed the motions and drew them out with an improvement over his start, but he suffered a marked tilt in his stance. The moment he completed the last motion he turned out of it toward the door and flipped Leonard off.

 

Some of the boys kneeling around the mat sniggered. Unable to grasp much of anything with his hands, Spike kicked up a nunchuka and flipped them around his ankle. With a violent thrust, he sent them straight at Leonard who danced out of the way.

 

“Spike.” He straightened up, folding his arms. “Get back here.”

 

Spike snuffed. “You have a class to teach.”

 

“I have a student still in need of a lesson.” Leonard leveled his gaze waiting for Spike to meet it. And meet it he did, with a venomous scowl that did not belong to him.

 

“I'm not a child!”

 

“I treat my pupils the age they act. If you wish respect, you must earn it.”

 

“Shove it up your—”

 

“You are itching for a fight.”

 

“I didn't come here to play with balls and dance like a fuckin' bird. I came here to get my balance back.”

 

“Really? And how did your previous plan figure in?”

 

Spike stiffened, despite the swelling he pumped a fist. “I knew what I needed!”

 

“Did you, now?” Leonard lifted an eyebrow. “Shall we see how well it worked?”

 

The boys leaned forward as Spike widened his posture, a bull about to charge. Leonard remained relaxed, even as Spike bolted for him he barely moved. One palm was all he needed against Spike's bruised shoulder to send him staggering to the side. Anger wasn't enough to overpower the pain. Nor was one strike enough to dissuade the student. Spike rallied and came back. A blow to his blackened ribs bent him double. 

 

Sensei Leonard stood in one place hardly shuffling his feet as Spike repeatedly swiped impotent claws at him. Spike's face scrunched up and wrinkled the scar by his eye. This could go on all day, but the idea was to wake him up, not render him unconscious.

 

This time when Spike drove toward him, Leonard stepped forward and launched into a series of battering strikes. “I strike the ironwood tree … ” he left the rest unsaid, waiting.

 

Spike did not disappoint. Beneath the strikes he spat, “Until it bends!”

 

Not letting up, Leonard pushed Spike around the mat. “I stoke the fire of my furnace … ”

 

With a grunt, Spike roared back, “Into molten fire!”

 

“I churn the ground, deep and fertile … ”

 

“And draw forth sustenance!”

 

Leonard kept up the assault in measure to Spike's response, if anything he was giving back more than he was taking. “I forge the steel … ”

 

“To be my tool!”

 

Twisting out of the way, Leonard dipped down into a low wide stance and held his guard wide. Spike paused and glared back, hard. The sensei's smooth voice pushed on, “I stand in the mighty river … ”

 

Spike shouted back, “To be one with its current!”

 

Silence descended. Inch by inch Spike's bravado cracked, his fists fell to his sides, eyes grew distant. Until at last he slid to the flood, bracing himself on his bandaged hands with his head bowed.

 

The boys gasped. “Sensei defeated him!”

 

“Nonsense.” Leonard folded his arms. “I have merely defeated my student's arrogance. Spike, would you care to share your epiphany?”

 

Barely moving, Spike opened his eyes and rasped out. “I was such an idiot.”

 

Leonard shrugged and began a slow circle. “Not precisely how I would put it, but that is blunt.” He glanced at the boys. “There are five elements that rule our lives. Wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. Our spirits naturally align with one of these elements. When we walk the path that aligns with us we find power. When we chose to defy our nature … ” He glanced down at Spike who looked away, his hand coming up to cover his right eye. Leonard gestured for him to rise.

 

Shakily, Spike came to his feet, his right eye puckered half-closed.

 

“Spike for example is of the water. Instead of patiently flowing through the rocks placed in his riverbed, he chose to try and bludgeon his way through. The price he paid is easy to see.”

 

“And smell.” One of the boys plugged his nose at the lingering scent of the salve through the bandages.

 

Leonard expected at least a reaction, but Spike didn't even lift his head. Perhaps he had been a bit rough. “You have seen a demonstration of attempting to buck one's true nature. Now, witness what happens when it is embraced. The most dangerous of rivers is not the rushing rapids, for the white caps provide a map of what lies beneath. No. The lazy river lulls men into a false sense of security, the hazardous current concealed beneath a tranquil surface.”

 

As he spoke, Leonard watched Spike's breathing deepen. His eyes discarded the frenzy for a calmer gaze. Tight limbs loosened as he leaned back on his rear leg. Somewhere out of the depths of hysteria, his student re-materialized despite the fever gleam in his left eye.

 

“A master of the current gives nothing away to his opponent.” Leonard sunk down and inched forward.

 

Spike remained loose and still, watching. This time he refused to strike first, waiting for Leonard to close the distance. Drawn into range, the moment Leonard moved, Spike parried and rolled the strike away. He blocked with his left. His right hand delivered an open palm aimed off-center. The curl of his lip betrayed that was not where he'd aimed.

 

But instead of letting his rage take over. He switched leads. Adapting to the problem, he turned his head to the left and now drove forward with the other hand. Leonard grinned as he watched the calculated adjustment. Spike dialed it in, softer due to his injuries. The blows never quite reaching their tight target. Like water into a vessel, Spike explored the edges of the form giving and taking.

 

At last, Leonard broke it off, fist to palm. Spike answered in kind and they bowed with eyes locked.

 

Turning his attention to the boys, Leonard set them up in drill lines. From the corner of his eye he watched the figure by the window. Spike hadn't left. On his own, without a word from his sensei, he had remained.

 

In a lengthy series Spike stepped to the left and traced his hands down his thighs then back up and into the air. Stepping right he repeated the motions, back and forth until Leonard's glanced observations lost track of how many times he had repeated the first movement of the Five Elements cycle, Wood. Slow and steady, his expression bore true concentration, not the mockery of before. At last he brought his hands together, right over the left, over his lower abdomen for a few breaths. At this time, Leonard's first class filtered out and the next entered.

 

When he chanced a glance Spike was already stretching into the Fire sequence. In a continuous motion, Spike stepped to the left swept his hands over his head and brought the pinkies together drawing his hands down the center line and folding the backs of the hands together into a wider stance. Stepping in, he stood straight before stepping to the right and repeating. Over and over again, the flames traveled heavenward. His eyes staring out into nothing, lost in the deep meditation.

 

Leonard set the older boys into paired drills, watching Spike out of the corner of his eyes. Spike twisted into the Earth. Always stepping back forth after each completion, he swept his arms to the left first wrapping them in a wide position around his torso. The left arm high, palm to the ceiling. The right across his chest. He slowly turned to the right until he gazed all the way over his right shoulder. Leading with his left elbow he swept back down in a circle from the waist and opened his arms wide. Resetting, he stepped to the right and mirrored the posture. Over and over again, beads of sweat rolled down and caught in his bandages.

 

The boys had finished their drills and were back in line by the time Spike slid into Metal. He drew his arms above his center line, coming down, he pulled them back behind the torso and pushed forward. A gentle flow of the wrists reset the motion for the step to the other side. Patient and unbroken, Spike repeated the element, mindless of the commotion as the boys left.

 

Alone, Leonard came beside Spike in the middle of Water. In tandem they worked in the flow. Arms up behind in a wide arc, bending forward at the waist they traced their calves up the sides into a back bend and brought fists into a gentle punch in the small of the back. Bending once more they traced calves back down the ankles then back up the inside to step in. A step out to the other direction restarted the cycle. Side by side they let themselves go into the current. Leonard felt no tension in the figure beside him. Despite the injuries, Spike no longer hitched.

 

Outside the window, the sky blushed as the sun set. Their hands came together, low on the abdomen. Spike's clear eyes blinked as he raised his head with a long exhale. He glanced away from his sensei, at a loss for words.

 

“I trust you have gotten reacquainted with yourself?”

 

The nod was hardly visible.

 

“The Five Elements was an enlightened choice. You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble had you started with it.”

 

Spike's right eyelid twitched, the purple bruise beneath rendering the lighter brown tone that much more noticeable. “I … I'm sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry? You are the one who must heal now.” He tossed the salve container to Spike. “Go, plaster your bruises and get some rest. I will see you here tomorrow at dawn.”

 

Spike nodded and quietly left.

 

 


	16. Session 16

_ **Session 16** _

 

In the pre-dawn, tiny white sparkles betrayed the lake's surface stretching out beneath him. Spike reclined on the tree branch out over the water. His half-closed eyes gazed unfocused over the glowing ember of his cigarette. One bandaged hand still wreaking of salve, lay across his stomach, the other hung down at his side. The last three days of exercises had barely dented the damage he had done.

 

“Spike?” Annie's hushed voice off to his right jarred him slightly. Tension flared in his pupils as they refocused on the world, puckering his eyelids. “Spike, are you … are you alright?” She folded her hands on the tree branch just in his periphery.

 

He inhaled a lungful of smoke, breaking the previous steady rhythm of his breathing. Blowing it out he muttered, “I shot my damned eye out and got it replaced with a frickin' cybernetic thing that gives me a splitting headache. The damn thing doesn't even match making me look like a freak. Why the fuck wouldn't I be alright?”

 

She stared, only a faint outline in his distorted periphery. “I couldn't sleep. Something about the air … it feels like a storm coming. And then, well … I looked out and saw you sleeping out here.”

 

“I wasn't sleeping.” He narrowed his eyes, still refusing to look her way. “I was meditating.”

 

“Oh.” Her fingers shifted. “I didn't mean to—”

 

“Go back to bed.” Spike plucked the spent cigarette and flicked it out into the water. Pulling out a new one, he clumsily flicked his lighter until the orange glow caught.

 

Annie gasped and reached toward his bandaged hand.

 

He drew away and winced at the discomfort. “Leave me alone. This is hard enough as it is without someone rubbing it in.”

 

“Spike, please. You need to talk.”

 

He shut his eyes and spat. “I do not. All you want to do is say 'I told you so'. Yeah, I got shot, but I'm not dead.”  _ Not yet. _ He couldn't stop the trembling. It wasn't from the physical pain.  _ What if I'm crippled by this? What if I can't get it back? What if this is the end of my life with the Red Dragons? My life would be over.  _ His chest tightened, torturing him with the huff of each forced breath. 

 

Vaulting out of the tree, he landed off-kilter on the shore and shoved his hands in his pockets with his back to her. The lump in his throat prevented even a single word from escaping.

 

She touched his shoulder. Spike folded away from it, whining at the jolt of fresh pain. “Stop!” His bandaged hands plunged into the nest of hair. “I don't need this, Annie! Not from you … never from you! Just … leave me alone.”

 

Her shoes squeaked on the trail up the bank. Minutes passed before Spike dared to glance up.

 

Alone on the bank of the lake, he bent over and picked up a stone. Throwing it, he watched the failed skip as it plunged into the water and sunk leaving a ripple. He bowed his head beneath the lightening sky, a faint hue of red washed over the storm clouds.

 

*

 

The moon threw slashes against the wall of Vicious's high-rise luxury apartment. Every reflective surface gleamed blue from the high tech receiver to the gilded bed. Beneath the blankets Vicious jerked awake. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his tangled white hair. Beads of sweat poured down his bare chest. Beside him, Julia lay embraced in a deep slumber.

 

_Bitch could sleep through an asteroid impact._

 

Sourly, he twisted out of bed, grabbing his robe on the way out of the bedroom. Out in the modern decorated living room, he wrenched the fire place door open and stirred the coals into a roaring blaze. He knelt on the floor, his violet eyes glowing from the twisting flames.

 

_Why am I awake? I should be sleeping. It's the middle of the damned night and I should be asleep._

 

His gaze flicked to his katana above the mantle. Fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. Of course he had sharpened the blade. But for what purpose? He wouldn't be running until his dumbass partner healed.

 

_Moron._

 

On the edge of the coffee table the Colt Commander glowed a deep red from the flames. Vicious snatched it and brought it before the fire, turning the weapon in the light as his breathing intensified.

 

_If he hadn't shot himself, tomorrow would be like any other day with another mark to take out. The fool. Why must I pay the price for his stupidity? I am more than capable of running my own tasks. What the fuck is wrong with Mao? Why can't he see that?_

 

Footsteps across the carpet, a blanket dragged behind. The sound registered but he ignored it, staring deep into the fire, the gun in his lap.

 

_What am I supposed to do now?_

 

Out of the corner of his eye Julia stood grasping the blanket against her bare skin with a pale arm. “Darling, why don't you come back to bed?”

 

_This is all Spike's fault, the ridiculous show-boating asshole!_

 

Her hand brushed his shoulder. “Vicious, please. Remember what I told you at dinner? Tomorrow I'm leaving Tharsis for I don't even know how long. I won't be back until after I earn my degree.” Silence as the fire crackled. Her fingers fell away. “Are you even hearing me? Vicious? Your skin is cold. Are you alright?”

 

He white knuckled the grip of the gun, his eyelids twitched in the twisting flames.  _ What would have happened if he'd died? _

 

Like a ghost, Julia slipped back out of the room. The door clicked shut.

 

*

 

Rain spattered against the dojo windows as the preteen boys wandered in to take their knees on the mat. A couple of them glanced over in the corner at the figure that every day for the past weeks had been present. This morning's routine struck them as unusual. They snickered and pointed. One of the boys waved his arms around in mockery.

 

Leonard boxed his ear. “Show some respect, boy.”

 

The smart ass snorted and rubbed his ear. Another, more curious boy tugged on his sensei's sleeve. “What is he doing up there?”

 

Folding his arms, Leonard observed Spike's precarious balance on the three-foot tall post set into the floor. On the ball of one foot, Spike fluidly shifted his arms in a wide, gentle flap. His free foot floated in the air, shifting as a counterbalance. He leaned forward like a bird in flight. Every motion performed conscientiously requiring an incredible degree of core strength, especially as one arm drifted up with the other down. Spike steadfastly gazed straight ahead. His breath hissing out against the controlled exertion.

 

“It is a deep restoration technique called Black Phoenix Greets the Dawn.”

 

The rude boy spat out a laugh as Spike crossed his bandaged hands and stretched them forward and out. His free foot drifted down and to the front.

 

“You think it's easy, boy?” Leonard eyed the child. “Try mimicking it on the floor, let alone risking a shattered ankle if you loose your balance up there.”

 

“It's easy. Watch!” The boy lifted a foot and leaned forward. “See?” Of course momentum carried him forward into a harsh face plant. His classmates giggled into their palms.

 

“The key to this technique,” Leonard shifted his gaze back to Spike, “is the focused gaze. Throughout the entire practice one fixes on a single point straight ahead. The eyes never leave this point. Thus the body works independent of one's observation. He feels his own balance as it incrementally shifts.”

 

Sinking down on the post into a tight crouch, Spike inched his free leg closer. Crossing his arms, palms up, he leaned forward. With nothing to counter the balance, his breathing sharpened under the change. Sweat dripped. He inhaled stiffly and with a grunt pushed up off the one foot and transferred to the other. The unfurl of the wings twisted right down first, then left. The phoenix spreading into a bow and rising again.

 

The boys, even the rude one, stood with dropped jaws. Leonard smiled softly as Spike's palms met before him and he bowed. Flipping into a handstand on the pole he dismounted the three foot post to the floor and ran a hand through his hair. As he gulping from a water bottle, Leonard gestured toward the center of the mat. “Are you feeling up to a bit of sparring?”

 

Spike swallowed and tossed the bottle aside. He rubbed his shoulder and nodded. “I was just getting warmed up.”

 

The boys all dashed to their places and knelt on the edge of the mat. Their sensei and this older student of his padded to the center.

 

“Sensei.” Spike held up a hand. “I want you to test me.”

 

“Are you certain you are ready?”

 

He relaxed, his hands at his side. But Leonard knew better. This was how Spike began … the _real_ Spike. “I won't know unless we make this serious. It doesn't help me if you go easy.”

 

“As you wish.” Leonard nodded and sank down into his long posture, leading with his right. “You know your target.”

 

They stood, eyes locked for the longest moment. Neither moved. This wasn't at all like last time. Spike's half-lidded gaze was tranquil. A quality that remained as Leonard lunged forward. Calm and fluid, Spike deflected and evaded incoming strikes. His sweeping moves were a quarter of the impotent strikes he had used two weeks back. Efficient, they left little space to react.

 

Leonard smiled as the dance continued. Back and forth they traded offense and defense. The match drifted all over the mat. Each time Spike tried to lead with his right he immediately shifted back, his left taking over and proving truer. A marked difference from before. Leonard fostered ambidexterity in his most promising students, but Spike was still right dominant by nature.

 

In the turn around the mat Spike performed a tight spin around his side, striking . Leonard tucked and blocked it with his forearm. A few movements later Spike did it again to the opposite. Once more Leonard tucked and blocked, keeping his core protected. This little game of tag continued interspersed. Odd, Spike wasn't one to keep trying the same thing when it didn't work. And yet … the spin again. Leonard tucked and brought his arm up—into nothing. His momentum carried him forward. He stopped suddenly. A palm slammed into his chest right in the center of the bear embroidered in the silk of his left breast. Shocked, he stared down to find Spike laying on his back and grinning.

 

“That was a dirty move, Spike!” But a smile creapt through.

 

“That, I believe, is a victory shot.”

 

“In a real fight this leaves you at a disadvantage.”

 

Spike snickered. “In a real fight I wouldn't have stopped.” He whipped his leg up and wrapped it around Leonard's right leg. In a twisting wrench he pulled his leg one way while pushing with his palm in the other. Leonard lost his balance and flipped onto his back. Spike's elbow drove for, but stopped short of, his throat. “You see sensei, I wanted to make sure you registered the victory.”

 

Wide-eyed, Leonard contemplated the relaxed gaze of his student. There still remained an unbalance between the two eyes, but his student had somehow leapt ahead when he wasn't looking. “How? … you planned that?” When Spike nodded, he edged himself up. “How?”

 

“The lazy river leaves no tells of the current and the traps that lie beneath.” Spike grinned up at his sensei and leaned on one elbow, letting him work it out.

 

It dawned, slowly. “The spins to the outside … the tuck … ”

 

“Each time you did the same damn thing.”

 

His jaw dropped. “You tested me, primed me to go for that, and then purposefully switched tactics.”

 

Spike flashed his teeth.

 

“I didn't teach you how to do that.”

 

He laughed and stood, helping Leonard to his feet. “No. But I did a lot of meditating on weakness, since I have to figure out how to deal with mine until I get used to it. What will my opponents see? How will they try to turn it on me? Until my brain catches up with this damn thing, I have a problem.”

 

One the boys blinked. “What are you talking about?”

 

For the first time, Spike looked directly at him. A flash of lightning outside caught his eyes, the difference between them stark. The boys all leaned forward. “Whoa. What happened?”

 

“My real eye got shot out. This thing's a new piece of hardware I've been trying to get used to. Why do you think I've been in here?” He tucked his hands in his pockets and glanced back at Leonard, a finality written on his features.

 

“Spike, be careful out there. You're not back to full strength yet.”

 

“I keep greeting the dawn and I will be soon.” He cupped a fist in his hand and bowed, Leonard offered the same and turned back to his students. Just as he was about to speak, Spike remarked, “Sensei, I thought you weren't supposed to favor one student over others.”

 

Leonard glanced over his shoulder. “The treatment of my student is a reflection of his integrity.”

 


	17. Session 17

_ **Session 17** _

 

The two dozen members of Ironwall's team lingered in the meeting house, waiting for Ironwall to arrive. Scattered around the upstairs in groups, many idled the time playing cards or cleaning their guns. Vicious sat straight backed in the window, keeping watch. In between, he stole glances at his somber partner, wedged in a dark corner actively trying not to attract attention the first day back from his lengthy hiatus at Mao's estate.

 

The tactic wasn't working.

 

Even those who had previously idolized Spike stared and murmured. Spike buried his right side further into the shadows. His rogue hand sporadically ran down his thin black tie or flicked the clasps on his double breasted jacket. By now the incision and bruising had completely healed. But it didn't matter, everyone knew the story. With all the muttering there was no way he wasn't self-conscious. Especially once the remarks grew loud enough to be overhead.

 

“Hey look, the Hellhound wandered back to join us.”

 

“Screw hitting bulls eyes, the new thing is hitting a hound's eye! Spike's a trend-setter. Ah haha!”

 

One of the men pointed his fingers like a gun and shot it, then clapped his hands over his eye falling to the floor dramatically.

 

Another slapped Spike on the shoulder. “S'good thing your partner was there to save your ass. Even the ISSP lackeys can nail a corpse!”

 

Spike tucked his head lower, turning as far away as possible.

 

Vicious shifted in the window, concealing his slight smile. _The story took. They believe he did it to himself. So much for his sterling reputation._

 

From the card table, Jovi rapped his knuckles and glared. “Knock it off, guys.”

 

Out on the sidewalk, Ironwall approached with a stiff gait. His footsteps pounded the creaking stairs to the upper floor. Dressed in his officer's jacket he paused in the door and surveyed his men, counting them all, even Spike's shadow in the corner. “Right. We're all here.”

 

“About time.” One of them uttered, to a chorus of sniggers.

 

Ironwall shot the speaker a dark look and quelled the laughter. “Today is not the day to try my patience. We have business to attend to. Drop the cards. All your eyes up here.”

 

In a flood tide, his tone washed away the humor. Everyone looked up, including Spike.

 

“You all know there have been a series of attempts to intercept our Purple Eye supplies. Not only in our district in Tharsis, but all over. All the capos met this morning and have concluded that it is time we set out regular watches until further notice. Any activity in our territory should be dealt with severely … ”

 

While Ironwall spoke, one of the men glanced over at Spike. He tapped the man next to him and pointed. They both cocked their heads and whispered. Vicious couldn't help but be distracted. Glancing at Spike as he leaned forward, Vicious noted a ray of sunlight caught his eyes. Their uneven colors blatantly obvious in the dark room, soon no one was looking at Ironwall, everyone, even Jovi and Kip were squinting at the sight.

 

Ironwall fell silent.

 

Spike followed the officer's gaze down to the others gaping. Instantly he recoiled back into the shadows.

 

Snapping his fingers, Ironwall demanded their attention. “Is something more important than your orders? No? I didn't think so! As I was saying, there is another threat. Evidence points to more than one individual leaking information outside the syndicate. Your orders are to report anything you hear of this directly to me. The price of treason to the syndicate is … ”

 

“Death.” They responded in unison.

 

“Do not forget that. Ever.”

 

“Sir.” Kip interjected. “Does this have anything to do with Culvey?”

 

Ironwall's expression grew grim. “Yes.”

 

“Then, the rumors were true?”

 

“The truth is far worse than the rumors.” He bowed his head for a moment. “I trust none of you will ever force such a task to be essential.”

 

Around the room the men shifted uneasily.

 

“Davis, Riley, Vicious, and Spike. I need you to come with me to the tower.”

 

Vicious crossed his arms. “I trust this is not a courtesy call?”

 

Ironwall shook his head. “The responsibility fell on my squad this time. The rest of you have your orders. Dismissed.”

 

*

 

Spike and the other selected members of Ironwall's team followed him into the chamber in complete silence. Each held a Heckler and Koch G3 rifle to their shoulders. The weight of the rifle in Spike's hands was substantial compared to his typical handgun. At least he thought that's what it was. Perhaps it had more to do with the man bound by his wrists standing with his back against the wall.

 

He didn't know Culvey personally. Just that the man worked in the offices and by the looks of it had never handled a gun in his life. The color flushed from his face the moment Ironwall ordered the firing squad to take the line.

 

Shoulder to shoulder in a row Davis, Riley, Spike, and Vicious faced their shackled victim with the muzzles pointed at the floor. Spike couldn't help but focus on how the man struggled in vain. Culvey's lips tried to form words that failed to be comprehensible.

 

Behind the firing squad, the Van spoke concealed by a mural veil. Three different voices trading off.

 

“Administrator Culvey Tredder. You stand before us as traitor to your brethren. The Red Dragon demands loyalty, those who break it are sentenced to death. Your final words?”

 

Ironwall raised his hand. The squad lifted the rifles.

 

Down the sight of the metal barrel Spike zeroed in on the target. Culvey stuttered, his begging eyes darted everywhere. Shutting his left eye, Spike leveled the sight directly in line with the man's throat. The synthetic eye feed the detail of his pulse through the vein. Each beat a tiny throb stretching his skin. Spike steadied himself, finger on the trigger awaiting the order. _No more disappointment. I can't afford to let Mao and Ironwall down again. I must prove to them I don't belong on the other end of this rifle._

 

The breath of a life. The bitter price of loyalty.

 

Culvey wailed, “Please! It's not how it looks—don't kill me! Let me explain!”

 

“Fire.”

 

A second to react, Spike pulled the trigger. Like slow motion through the feed, he observed the high-caliber bullet push eddies in the muzzle flare and travel true in a spin directly into Culvey's neck. The three remaining shots thumped into the torso. His whimpering ceased. Culvey slumped in his shackles, a thick river of blood flowing free from the hole in his neck. In tandem, the squad lowered the rifles and waited.

 

“The will of the Red Dragon is done. Let word of this justice be swift warning to those who would defy.”

 

Ironwall paced back up the line. His men shouldered the rifles and paraded out to return them. Once they were in the weapon's locker, Ironwall folded his arms across his chest. “I trusted you would all be up to the task.” He flicked a glance at Spike as he turned from replacing the gun. “Spike, that was one helluva shot.”

 

Vicious stiffened, “Sir, four shots hit the target.”

 

Ironwall nodded. “Yes, but only Spike aimed for the smaller target. Testing to see if you have your aim back?”

 

Davis and Riley swallowed their shock as Spike nodded. Under the brighter lights his eye was even more obvious.

 

“Well, it's safe to say you do. Now that this duty is finished, join the others. We need to find out who picked up Culvey's thread and silence them.”

 

*

 

“Riley, stop exaggerating.” Kip leaned against the door of the meeting house. “I mean, I know execution jobs make a man wiry, always something about killing someone who used to be an ally. Especially those office lunkheads, never heard of any of their lot taking it like a man. But there's no way what you're telling me about earlier today happened.”

 

“I saw it!” Riley spread his hands wide. “I'm telling you, I was at Spike's left shoulder. He had his left eye shut tight when he lined up that shot!”

 

Several of the men sniggered. “Does Riley even know right from left?”

 

Kip waved a hand to quiet them, wandering into the center of the room. “There were four of you. Four hits. Any one of you could have made the kill shot. Anyone but Spike. Jovi saw it himself that night, Spike's right eye got shot out. And on his payroll, he's lucky to afford a pure fake.”

 

Jovi cleared his throat and pointed out the door. Kip, Riley and company turned to the doorway. Spike slouched against the frame with his hands in his suit pockets. Just behind him Vicious scowled and pushed through into the room.

 

Silence stretched out for far too long until Jovi rose from his chair and came a bit closer, staring rudely. “Does it … can you really see?”

 

Spike gave a slow controlled nod.

 

“I … I saw you … in the warehouse. I mean, there's no way they could have repaired that … how is it possible?”

 

Standing up straight, Spike faced him and closed his left eye. “Go ahead. Take a swing.”

 

Jovi's hands came up in front of him. “No, I don't want to hit you.”

 

“Nothing to fear. You won't.”

 

“Go on, Jovi.” The men urged. “Give the klutz a good belt up the side of his head.”

 

Jovi's hand pumped into a fist. He stared straight into Spike's right eye swearing for all he was worth that it couldn't be a functioning synthetic. Not for a low ranked grunt. So what was Spike playing at? Would he play dirty and open his left? The squad leader drew his hand back prepared to swing, unnerved by the dead-eyed glare. No. Riley had to have exaggerated, that eye was a glass composite fake. No one would have footed that bill.

 

He started to lung forward, fist in the lead.

 

A slight grin appeared, Spike's left eye remained shut. He slipped to the side, easily. Hooking his arm around Jovi's throat, he used momentum to guide him to the ground.

 

Staring up at Spike now, Jovi swallowed as the pupil in the right eye shifted. He panted, his chest tightening as the answer struck him … no one could foot the bill for a working synthetic eye—except the Van. Which meant—they had their eyes on this young blood.

 

Spike reached down and levered him back to his feet. “Told you.” He patted the stunned Jovi on his shoulder and walked on by.

 

After catching his breath Jovi blinked around the room at the remainder of the gathered men, all of them as bewildered as he. All save a sullen Vicious leaning against the window, his eyes boring into Spike.

 

Pulling out a chair, Jovi decided it might be prudent to bring in the outcast, “Hey Spike, you up for a game of a poker?”

 

He paused and replied over his shoulder, “Depends. What are the stakes?”

 


	18. Session 18

_ **Session 18** _

 

_Weeks now._ Vicious thought to himself as he sharpened his katana, crowded in the meeting house by a handful of the team members.  _Weeks of pointless chasing all over Tharsis. And all for a handful of deaths. It's time to end this monotony._

 

His idle gaze drifted through the gathered crew, most of them fresh meat. A few days back, after losing a couple of men to an ambush, Ironwall added a pair of twins to the team. Lin and Shin sat hunched over their firearms at a table, servicing them while stealing glances toward the couch. “What the heck is with that guy? I mean, all he does is sleep.”

 

Vicious glanced at the figure on the couch, none other than Spike. He lay on his back with his hands cradling his head in what would appear to the untrained to be sleep. But nothing could have been further from the truth. The breathing cycle screamed volumes to Vicious of his partner's deep meditation.

 

_The fools. This entire team is deplorable. To think that the apparent sleeping habits of that clumsy idiot gain so much attention. What lengths does one need to go to get their attention?_ He ran the whetstone along the blade harder.  _They're just a bunch of gun-toting grunts. Most of them haven't stepped in a dojo. Nor do they know the skill it takes to handle a blade. Why should I care what they think?_

 

The thought nagged him. Ever since they'd returned from Culvey's execution Spike's short-lived ridicule abruptly ended. More than ever the team courted his attention, even his advice. And yet, he was not even junior officer. They requested Spike repeatedly to tell of his hits. Vicious gripped the hilt. The team rarely asked him … and yet, he and Spike ran the same jobs.

 

Shin glanced again at Spike. Vicious threw his sword in a tumble inches from Shin's face. The blade hummed as the tip embedded into a wall board, cutting Shin off from viewing the couch. Color drained as he leaned back, the fresh meat's eyes trembled as he stared at Vicious.

 

“Staring is rude.” Vicious stormed across the room and ripped the blade out of the wall.

 

“Sir.” Shin gulped.

 

Hardly anyone else, aside from his twin holding his breath, reacted.

 

A buzzing sound filled the tense silence. Spike cracked an eyes open and reached into his pocket for his phone. “Yo.”

 

Ironwall's voice crackled over the speaker,  _“Spike. That intel Vicious reported is solid. Mao was able to confirm it.”_

 

Leisurely Spike reached into his other pocket and plucked out the poker chip, he flipped it in his hand a couple of times. “So, I take it you want us on pest patrol?”

 

“ _Your orders are to send a message.”_

 

“With or without a pigeon?”

 

“ _Your call. Just make sure it's clear they're not welcome here. Take as many members as you need.”_

 

Spike flipped the chip into the air and let it fall to the floor. It rolled on its edge before spiraling down, blank side up. Meeting Vicious's annoyed glare, he smiled and chuckled. “Oh, Vicious and I will be enough. I've been sleeping on the blueprints he showed me. The two of us can evict this nest easy. Give me about an hour to wrap some presents and we'll drop by, pay 'em a little visit.”

 

Levering himself up off the couch, Spike snatched the poker chip and passed by Vicious, flicking it in the air repeatedly. “Good thing I brought supplies with me. Figured this was going to go down sooner rather than later.”

 

Lin and Shin both stared over their shoulders as Spike tossed a duffle bag on a table. He lit a cigarette and took a few breaths before pulling out several bricks worth of C-4.

 

“Remember Spike,” Vicious strode over, crossing his arms, “I'm the one who found them.”

 

“Fine.” Pushing a detonator in, Spike remarked dryly without looking up, “You can pick the bird.”

 

Lin scratched his head. “Bird?”

 

“Messenger pigeon.” Spike continued, prepping the next block. “Essentially the unlucky stiff who gets to crawl away with just enough breath to talk about what happened before eatin' it.”

 

*

 

“Ahh!” The Blue Snake convulsed as Vicious's blade cut his Achille's tendon. Blood spattered on Vicious's black trench coat. The victim hissed with every breath as Vicious dragged him across the pavement outside the office building. By now a dozen syndicate members lie bleeding on the pavement spaced in ten foot increments from the building.

 

One of them tried to drag herself away. Vicious hauled her back. “Stay where I put you, bitch. You are at thirty feet.”

 

“Why?” She wailed. “Why are you doing this?”

 

His blade kissed her neck scarlet, only enough to silence her. “Because Blue Snakes do not belong in Red Dragon territory. As for this, it's how I will pick a volunteer.”

 

“For what?”

 

Vicious smiled. “Whoever survives the blast zone, wins.”

 

“Blast zone!” She stared wide-eyed back at the building.

 

Spike pushed the glass door open and padded along the line of maimed members. Hands in his tan trench coat, a cigarette hung out of the side of his mouth. He glanced at the victims and nodded. “I see you have the experiment set up. My money is on the one-ten and one-twenty. But it's possible hundred will make it.” He waved a hand to Vicious as he continued striding away. “We'll have to see. I admit I was a bit liberal.”

 

Sheathing his sword, Vicious walked alongside. “I can't believe the fools tried to set up a base of operations in Tharsis.”

 

“What base? Oh, you mean the building that's about to be a crater.” The cries of the stranded Blue Snakes filled the air in answer to Spike's calm declaration. “Still, it is a nice afternoon for a demolition.” He grinned up at the twenty story building shining in the sunlight.

 

“Did they give you any trouble inside?”

 

“Eh, a few guards put up a fuss about my redecorating plans. I didn't even have to pull out my Jericho to negotiate. Think it had something to do with grabbing this instead.” Spike plucked out the remote trigger.

 

Vicious glanced at the two men furthest from the building. “That explains why they came tearing out into my waiting hands.”

 

Flicking on the power, Spike held the remote up and called out, “Alright, can we get a volunteer please?”

 

Arms shot into the air, the rival syndicate members flailed trying to drag themselves.

 

_**THHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!** _

 

The bottom floors of the building disintegrated. Debris flew out in a dust cloud as the entire structure collapsed down on itself. Fire glutted out of every crevice. Spike and Vicious watched the rolling smog as it slowly cleared. Cement, rebar, and glass concealed the corpses up to ninety feet. They could see half his torso sticking out from beneath the rubble. The hundred mark lay motionless, blood dripping from his open mouth. One-ten and one-twenty huddled in balls covering their ears.

 

Vicious and Spike approached them. “Well, do we really need two?”

 

Spike shook his head.

 

_**Shink!** _

 

The man at one-twenty groveled, holding his bleeding ears as he stared at the headless guard.

 

“Sing birdie.” Vicious grinned as he and Spike turned to walk away. “ISSP should be along shortly.”

 

“Heh, but not before the Blue Snakes dash in to see what the hell happened. Heh. At least he won't hear them screaming at him for failing.” Spike plucked out his phone and dialed. “Hey Ironwall … oh yeah, we remodeled the joint. It's a rambler now with a large courtyard. You might want to check, I think they're motivated sellers now.”

 


	19. Session 19

_ **Session 19** _

 

Mao sat in the elaborate seat in the middle of the chamber. Despite his rank of capo, he was flanked by a number of armed guards, their eyes locked on the Van. The three elders sat cross-legged on cushions behind the thin veil, speaking in their usual manner of trading off sentences. As always, the triad spoke as one.

 

“Mao Yenrai. Your loyalty to the will of the Dragon continues to prove itself. Those in your command have done admirable work in response to the persistent increase in the Blue Snake's attempts to invade our territory. Most noted over these weeks since their attempt to set up a base was derailed. However, their rivalry continues to grow, specifically in your district, which as you know is our most valuable.”

 

“That is precisely why I requested this audience.” Mao adjusted the braid on his jacket. “The will of the Dragon is assuredly to secure the unbridled growth of the syndicate. To do so it has become essential for one of my officers to restructure his ranks. This requires promotions.”

 

“Within reason, the capos are permitted to divide their ranks as required.” The Van paused and exchanged a rare glance among them. “That you pose this before us suggests an unusual circumstance. Is this correct?”

 

With a nod, Mao straightened in his chair. “Perceptive, as usual. Officer Lee Gates, has requested dividing his ranks into two independent teams to cover the territory. This requires promoting two of his lower ranks to team leads for the second.” He cleared his throat. “The circumstance concerns ages.”

 

“How old are those he wishes to award higher rank to?”

 

“The boys … men are both nineteen.”

 

A sly smile grew on each of the Van's lips. “One of these is the asset that you, Mao Yenrai, convinced the Dragon to invest in. Is this correct?”

 

“The very same. And his partner. Together they would oversee a division of Ironwall's men and report directly to him, if it is the will of the Dragon.”

 

“This … asset owes a great debt to the Red Dragon. A promotion would insure more value to his services. Such a movement is wise, wiser still your decision to seek our permission.” All three Van nodded and replied in unison, “Granted.”

 

Mao exhaled a breath he didn't realize he had held. He rose and bowed deeply and replied, “To serve is an honor.”

 

*

 

Surrounded by his team in the meeting house, Ironwall's orders were cut short by his phone. He held up a hand and answered it.

 

Spike slouched against the door frame and reached into his trench coat pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. When Ironwall turned around and walked deeper into the room away from his men with his voice hushed Spike knew it would be a bit. He glanced over at Vicious who suddenly became obsessed with his cuff links. Well, this was a normal enough day. 

 

Several minutes stretched out before Ironwall hung up and slipped past Spike out of the room. All eyes followed the officer as he entered another room and they heard shuffling.

 

“What's he up to?” Lin asked.

 

Spike shrugged, “Dunno. Hold on, he's coming back with something.”

 

Ironwall proceeded into the center of the room with a bundle under his arm. “That call I had been waiting for. Because of the increased pressure on our district Mao and I have decided to restructure. We just received permission from the Van. Jovi and Kip, you two will be assigned half of the team and oversee the eastern half of our district.”

 

They nodded as Ironwall handed them a list.

 

“This of course means we need two more co-leaders for the western side.” He extended the military cut jacket with a junior rank braid to Vicious.

 

Vicious's eyes widened. He reached out and took the prized jacket staring at the rank braid. Hastily he shoved his limbs inside, puffing his chest out as he glanced at all the men watching him.

 

The expression faded swiftly. A second jacket appeared, held out before Spike who blinked at it, took it and tucked it over his arm. He looked back at Ironwall trying to ignore the glare from his partner.  _ What's his deal? He's wanted the damn thing since the first time he saw one. _

 

“Typically there is more ceremony for such a promotion. But regretfully there is no time. Immediate patrols are essential. This is not a time for us to be lax. Flush out those hiding Snakes. This morning rumors reported at least one darting into the western edge of district. There are likely more. We are honored with having the primary tower in our territory. Let's prove it to the Van that they are guarded by the most effective team in their ranks. Take your men, spread them out. Dismissed.”

 

*

 

“Thanks for the update, Shin. You two stick by the waterfront for now.” Spike hung up his phone and tucked it back into his trench coat pocket. Striding alongside beside Vicious, Spike puffed on a cigarette. His sideways gaze catching the heat rising from his partner. “Alright, what is it?”

 

“Nothing.” Vicious's flat tone remained unconvincing.

 

“Is that right? For years you've been after that damn pennant you're waving for the entire city to see.” He glanced at the dark wool jacket, its metallic braid catching the sunlight. “I expected more … well … something more anyway.”

 

“You left yours back at the house.”

 

“Yeah.” Spike stretched his arms over his head. “Don't see what the big deal is.”

 

Vicious eyed him. “We're actually officers now. You should look like it.”

 

“Nah, the solider-boy look never was one of my favorites.” Spike chuckled and tugged on his tie. “Besides, I'm wearing a damn suit. Close enough as far as I am concerned.”

 

“Well—” Vicious paused and stiffened, staring down the alleyway toward the open street.

 

Spike followed his gaze to spy a Blue Snake hunched over a case of Purple Eye. Immediately the Blue Snake glanced up in a panic, his mouth moved but no sound came out. He slammed the case shut and ran with it hugged to his chest. Spike was about to draw his gun when Vicious took off running. He growled and darted after his partner. Catching up in a short length he stole a glance. Vicious's scowl deepened with a competitive glare, he poured on the speed surging ahead. He grabbed a pallet leaning against the wall and flung it in Spike's path.

 

Spike scrambled to leap over it.  _ So, you wanna play it that way, you slimy bastard? This tag is mine! _

 

Redoubling his efforts, Spike skidded to the inside of a corner, passing Vicious and leaving him behind. But his lead didn't last. Vicious soon rode his shoulder sneering as they pursued the fleeing Snake through back alleys. Despite their competitive efforts, they remained a block behind their target, leaping over objects tossed in each others paths in order to trip.

 

Teeth ground tight, Spike glared over his shoulder as Vicious vaulted over a car screeching to a halt. Side by side they drove forward in their footrace, more fixed on each other then the target.

 

_**Crack!** _

 

Spike glanced up at the sudden sound. Only a few feet in front of them, the Snake broke through a railing and dropped out of sight with a shocked yelp. Unable to decelerate, Spike and Vicious scrambled as their momentum cast them from solid ground out into the air above the waterfront reservoir.

 

“Shiiiit!” Spike lost track of the target, his hands scrambled as he plummeted too far from the rough rock wall to change his path much. Beside him, Vicious turned in the air equally shocked by the churning flow of water below. Twisting, Spike fought to short the angle from striking the ridge of rocky debris. _Let it be deep enough!_

 

The swirling water swallowed him whole. Air, sound, sight; all were obliterated. Tumbling in the strong current Spike fought to orient himself. His hand scraped something solid. Rocks. Pulling himself up, he broke the surface and clung tight to the rock pile he'd narrowly missed. The rapids threatened to pull him free toward the turbines draining the reservoir into the water reclamation plant.

 

He spat out water, clawing for a better hold. “Vicious!”

 

A coughing fit caught his attention, just off to his left. Vicious clung nearby, the rapidly flowing water pushing up against his shoulders. “The bastard … got away!”

 

Spike searched down current, no sign of the body. But half submerged in the water it was hard to see anything. A moment later a thump and the sound of gears binding as they chewed on something echoed in the deep ravine. Spike adjusted his grip on the rocks and tried in vain to see better. “Well, sounds like he didn't get far.” When he looked back at Vicious his partner's scowl stalled him.

 

“Because of you!” Protected from the worst of the current by the rock, Vicious lunged toward Spike and tried to deliver a sweeping strike with his hand.

 

Unfortunately for Spike, his own grip remained on the edge, the current pushing past him. The moment he lifted a hand to deflect, the force of the water nearly ripped him away. “Vicious! Stop it! The current is too fast. We need to get out of here.” He looked across the short, swift flowing span that separated them from the wall. There was a ladder slightly upstream, but no way of reaching it without being washed away. “Alright, I admit this could have gone better.” Spike laid his head on the rock.

 

Vicious glared at him. “If you would have let me take his ass down—”

 

“Oh, shut up, Vicious. This isn't all on me! You didn't look either.”

 

A rope swung in between them. They both watched it swing back to the wall and followed it up to see Lin and Shin leaning over the bank.

 

*

 

In the meeting house, Spike wiped his dripping hair out of the way for the uncounted time as he pulled the Jericho apart. A puddle formed on the floor beneath him. He flinched every time Vicious made a show of wringing out his new officer jacket. A loud splashing each squeeze, accompanied by a growl.

 

“Seriously, Vicious, give it a rest. You act like you're the only one who fell in.” Spike picked up a towel and started drying off the parts of his gun. “I just cleaned this yesterday, now I have to do it again. You don't hear me complaining.”

 

Lin and Shin exchanged confused expressions before tucking back into the shadows.

 

“Well, you weren't wearing your jacket, were you!” He snapped.

 

Spike rolled his eyes and dropped the gun barrel on the table. “That's what this is about? That piece-of-shit tassel? Both of us pursued him. And if you insist on wearing that  _ badge of honor, _ shit's gonna happen to it. So lay off me!”

 

“Just because you don't care about respect and—”

 

He burst into laughter. “Don't tell me you think that Snake ran from a bit of fringe?” He stopped long enough to glimpse the stiffening in Vicious posture. “You actually did! Oh partner.” Crossing the room, Spike grabbed his shoulders and smirked. “That ain't the half of it. You're missing the best part if you believe that. The whole reason he ran like hell was because of our reputation. We've got some serious street cred, Vicious. No one wants to cross us because word has gotten out. That bastard knew he was doomed the second he knew who we were. You didn't catch him mouthing our names?”

 

Dumbfounded, Vicious shook his head. Slowly a grin began to emerge through the strands of dripping hair.

 

“Men don't give a woolong about a bit of braid.” Spike gripped his shoulders tighter. “What they fear is the solid reputation that proves their ass in trouble if they're in our sights. Think about it. We scared that asshole enough that he leapt to certain doom rather than stand his ground in an alley against us. That's serious bad ass.”

 

Vicious didn't get a chance to respond. Ironwall's heavy treading up the stairs stopped him. Slack-jawed the officer gazed into the room at the sodden pair. “It's not raining. Why are you two sopping wet?”

 

Spike ran a hand through his hair releasing a shower of droplets. “It's rather a long story … well, one with a sudden stop, actually. Ahem, an unexpected stop into the reservoir.”

 

“How? Why?”

 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “A Blue Snake decided to take a swan dive.”

 

Ironwall crossed his arms. “And you two followed him in?”

 

“Well, our orders _were_ to pursue aggressively, no matter where they went. And we understood the gravity of the situation.” He smiled at his own joke, even though the officer didn't.

 

“Did you efforts succeed?”

 

“Oh, he's still in processing.”

 

Ironwall jerked. “ISSP got him?”

 

“More like the city water filtration system.” Spike shrugged.

 

His head flopped into his hand.

 


	20. Session 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm guessing this chapter might come as a surprise to some, but there is logic behind what happens here. The inspiration comes from a blog post I ran across while researching “Dragons of the Darkwave”. It referenced the scene at the end of “Ballad of Fallen Angels” where Spike tells Faye she sings off key, the blog author noted we never hear Spike sing, only whistle. So … can he actually sing? Here Spike is nineteen years old, and often as teenagers/young adults we do some things that we'd maybe never do when we are older. Given Spike's abilities with Jeet Kune Do (and I often watched his fight scenes and noted a number of dance-like moves) this could easily translate to swing dance, a style that requires manipulating the momentum of one's partner. So, it is possible that he could have been a Swing Jazz fan … and his mouth got him into a bit of trouble. One other note, the song “Dr. Bones” is written by a group called Cherry Poppin' Daddies, I have used the lyrics here because I vividly pictured the scene to this piece, the lyrics are not my own work and credit goes to the group. Look it up and give it a listen. Enjoy!

_ **Session 20** _

 

Alone, Spike wandered down the street finding comfort in the jagged edges of the rougher district. Just an hour ago he had left Vicious's office, the memories of the rest of their team's expressions of awe rubbed his nerves raw. Inevitably it had only been a matter of time before Vicious convinced them to alter the meetings to his showcase room, unless Ironwall called for the main house. Of course Vicious still sported the jacket, which had dried without a trace of the incident. Still, that fancy place squatting in the shadow of the tower felt like an idle threat. While other teams met in nondescript places around Tharsis, Vicious stood on his pedestal under a blazing neon light.

 

The night was young, and they needed intel. All leads had dried up over the month since their promotion. Small fries, rounded up and netted. But something lurked out there. It was time to tap the undercurrent in the city. Spike knew of the perfect place to get the pulse … a place he hadn't been to in a while.

 

The Skeleton Key. Even standing outside the red brick building he already felt the devilish lure of the horns blaring, the thump of the double bass. Slipping into the smoggy speakeasy style bar, Spike tucked his hands in his suit jacket pockets glancing up at the stage in the back where the live musicians played. A full swing band; trumpets and a sax, double bass, drums, and the singer courting the microphone as he tickled the ivories with his ebony fingers.

 

The dance floor Spike skirted the edge of was absolutely packed. No surprise. He leaned against the stage and waited for the pianist in the fedora to glance his direction. A wide grin brightened the man's face as Spike gestured to a corner booth. Once the set was done, the singer announced the break and headed directly for the booth with a beer in his hands. He slipped in opposite Spike, already nursing his own beer. “Well well well, if the street ain't brought in an old stray dawg! Been too long, Spike.”

 

“How's it hangin', Dizzy? I see you're still caterwauling.”

 

“Heh,” Dizzy smirked and took a sip of his beer. “'Nough to make a livin'. 'Nough to own this joint.” When Spike raised an eyebrow, Dizzy puffed out his chest. “Got sick of chasin' places to play. You know, bosses cuttin' us to the bone. So we invested in our favorite stage to make sure we always had a place to swing. Glad to see you again, and frankly some of the kittens will be thrilled once they realize you're here.”

 

“Don't tell me this place is becoming a singles bar?” Spike chuckled. “I'm not here to start a cat fight over dance partners again.”

 

“Good, cause I don't think I want a brawl in my bar. Specially with you involved.” He adjusted his signature black fedora with the midnight-blue stripe. “Speaking of which, damn you look sharp, boy! I hear you're not only breaking eggs but been braided for it.”

 

“You hear everything, Dizzy. That's why I'm here.”

 

Dizzy leaned back and folded his hands in front of him. “Right, and you expect me to jus' pass along what I been hearin' for free? No dice, my brother from another mother. You gotta do something for me first.”

 

Spike half-hooded his eyes. “What do you want? A case of liquor? Something more lucrative? You know I'm not a direct dealer—”

 

“No no no, nothing like that.” The pianist rolled his fingers on the table. “My business is in entertainment. Let's just say tonight's the last night you get to remark about my caterwaulin', stray dawg.”

 

“Eh?” Spike glanced up at the stage and swallowed. “Dizzy, are you kidding me?”

 

“Money where your mouth is. End of the set. I'll pick a fittin' tune for that cock-sure attitude of yours. Shit, know you dance. And I know you are familiar with the songs. So, we get the treat tonight of not only seeing you jump and jive, but hearing you wail. Hah!” He slapped the table and stood up. “Something to rattle them bones.”

 

Flopping his head into his hand, Spike grumbled, “Was that a clue?”

 

“Maybe. Don't let the kittens wear you out on the floor. Lindy and Norma have been itching for a good swing. The regular guys don't toss for shit.” Dizzy waved a hand over his shoulder and took his seat back at the piano. “Alright all you cats and kittens, the dance floor is getting cold. Let's warm it up!”

 

Spike chuckled and chugged the remainder of his beer before leisurely walking into the growing crowd on the dance floor. Lindy, in mid spin, abandoned her partner and grabbed Spike's wrist with a coy grin. “Bout damn time you wandered back here!” She draped her other arm on his neck. Smoothly, Spike leaned into her, pealing her off into a rapid turn and dipping Lindy in time to the music. She winked, “Make me fly, bad boy!”

 

Spike adjusted his grip and threw her into the air. With her arms spread wide she hung there before gliding down into his waiting arms. He followed through the arc holding onto her wrist and letting her unfurl into a rebound swing, out and back.

 

Of course, it wasn't halfway through the song before Norma swirled into Spike's back swept arms. And soon he found himself locked with the two dancers vying for 'take off'. The three of them commanded the center of the dance floor. Along the edges more men stood with their hands in pockets as their partners swung in and didn't return … they gravitated toward him, shamelessly flirting with Spike who deftly tossed and spun the girls around in an elaborate juggling act. The fierce competition raged on in a ballroom blitz of flying skirts.

 

During a pause, Dizzy took off his fedora off and spun it on a finger. “A very special treat this evenin'. Well, I must say that our kittens here already know what the fuss is. But tonight at Skeleton Key we are the host of one of Tharsis's slickest criminals. A friend of mine who ran into me in the back alleys years ago before he officially became a Red hot Dragon, and has somehow managed to still be among the living.”

 

Spike chuckled.

 

“Considering he's a gambler, even with his life—I suppose that should come as no surprise. No one can rig the odds better than … ” he tossed the fedora and it landed cocked on Spike's head, “ … Spike Spiegel.”

 

The band launched into the song and Spike offered Dizzy a hard glare as he confirmed the suspicion. But without further remark, Spike swung his way up onto the stage and caught the airborne microphone. Immediately all his previous dance partners screamed, rushing toward the stage. Spike flicked a look over his shoulder at Dizzy. _You're gonna pay for this!_

 

Dizzy grinned like the Cheshire cat, hammering away on the piano as the horns blared the rest of the intro.

 

Tipping the hat forward, Spike lifted the old-style corded mic, swinging on the stage to the back beat before he launched into the swift spill of the lyrics.

 

“ _Eight ball in the pocket with a voodoo moan  
You can't trust him 'cause he's never alone”_

 

Dizzy blinked as Spike's voice filled the room, amped by the speaker. Smoother than he had expected, the pitch fairly close, the song within his comfortable range. And to his true shock, Spike continued to swing dance by himself on the front of the stage as he attacked the lyrics.

 __  
“Then he'll start talkin' chicken shit  
And grab your fuzzy dice  
That's when my hounds begin to howl  
That's when my dog begins to growl  
Don't be shy, take off your towel  
And get to slammin'”

 

In the riff pause, Spike swung the mic by its cord and caught it.

 __  
“Whoa! Dr Bones Dr. Bones Dr. Bones  
I love you Dr. Bones”

 

By now the women were all pawing at the stage as Spike pretended to roll a set of imaginary dice.

 __  
“Shake shake shake, shake and rattle  
Rattle them Dr Bones  
Come on and shake shake shake and rat-tle  
Rattle them Dr. Bones

 _Oh shake shake shake, shake and rattle_  
Rattle them Dr Bones  
Come on and shake shake shake and rat-tle  
Rattle them Dr. Bones”

 

Throwing the mic aside to Dizzy, Spike skidded on his knees onto the dance floor and grabbed Lindy by the hand. She melted into his arms and instantly they were off. Spike tossing her like a rag doll up and over his back. Soon he discarded her and slipped an arm around Norma who tangled him in her boa with a sly smile. Spike grabbed her wrists and flung up almost into a handstand before swinging her down and off to his left. Locking eyes with her, he smugly grinned and dragged his fingers up her thigh, taking the hem of her short dress a short way up. The move was disrupted, when Lindy leaned against his back. Spike turned into her and spun both girls at the same time, one on each side. He rolled the fedora down his arm and bounced it back onto his head before retaking the stage for the next verse.

 __  
“He'll get sniffin' when your fish is gashed  
He likes you best when your banana's mashed  
He's only happy with your girlfriend's pie  
And his bony fingers up your ass  
He's breakin' eggs all over the place  
Don't tell me you're my friend  
Just get the fuck out of my face  
You got me pukin' in the kitchen sink  
I've lost my baby and I've had too much to drink”

 

Lindy and Norma both hopped up and sat on the edge of the stage simpering into Spike's downcast gaze. He leaned down and pretended to court them before pulling back, leaving them to pout as he dashed out the final chorus fully embodying the gangster gambler.

 __  
“Shake shake shake, shake and rattle  
Rattle them Dr Bones  
Come on and shake shake shake and rat-tle  
Rattle them Dr Bones

 _Oh shake shake shake, shake and rattle_  
Rattle them Dr Bones  
Come on and shake shake shake and rat-tle  
Rattle them Dr Bones”

 

Spike leaned down between the two women. “Of course there's no point in casting pearls before swine, right ladies?”

 

Turning bright red, Lindy and Norma grabbed Spike's tie and yanked, hard. With a slight yelp, he tipped forward and back-flopped on the floor. The fedora landing over his face.

 

Dizzy plucked his hat up and stared down at the laughing Spike. “Damn boy, the closest you are **ever** going to get to gettin' laid at this rate is gettin' laid out on the floor.”

 

“Relax.” He grinned. “I did it on purpose. Women are like stray cats. You feed 'em once and they come back scratching for more. Besides, think their fellas want them back. Now, are you done embarrassing me?”

 

“Heh, you proved you can carry a tune without a bucket.” Offering a hand, Dizzy helped him up. “But don't quit your day job.”

 

“I work more nights.” Spike winked as Dizzy led him back behind the bar and through a corridor. In the recesses of the building, Dizzy cracked open a small door leading into a narrow room with a single hanging light bulb. Neither could stand up in the short space. Once Dizzy shut the door Spike rubbed his chin. “I take it since we're here this isn't a run of the mill rumor.”

 

“No rumor, dawg.” Dizzy's eyes narrowed. “I know cause I saw the bugger here, heard him chattin' with some of his thugs. Course, you already broke most of them eggs. But not him. I take it you know someone's been gearing at lifting Purple Eye off of Mars.”

 

“Common enough problem. But this time it's more organized. The trend points to another syndicate. Blue Snake most likely. We thought we had her, but cutting off her head wasn't enough.”

 

“Yeah, this fat cat is a Snake alright. Out of Ganymede.”

 

“Ganymede?” Spike cocked his head. “That why they were shooting for the gate?”

 

He nodded. “Slippery bastard, he left a corpse in one of my booths. Won't forget what he looks like. Burly fellow, with blue eyes and blonde hair. Had a tattoo on his left hand, two dice in blue displaying snake eyes. A capo, if I ever saw one. And you know I have.”

 

Spike lit a cigarette and replaced his lighter. He locked eyes with Dizzy, waiting.

 

“The man's name is Krait. And he's dead set after your syndicate's supply lines.”

 

“He picked the wrong city to shop around in. Thanks, Dizzy.”

 

“Watch your tail, Spike. I think Lindy and Norma would be pissed to find out their favorite partner got scratched.”

 

Spike snorted a laugh. “That right?”

 


	21. Session 21

_ **Session 21** _

 

Faint red tinted the skies, slowly overtaken by black. A dry wind coursed through the canyons of Tharsis city. Perched on the roof ledge of a four story hotel, Spike lit his fifth cigarette in what seemed as many minutes. Below, nothing moved in the streets except for a few pieces of trash tossed carelessly on the wind. The same wind that tugged at the edges of Spike's trench coat.

 

_Where are you hiding, Krait? And why is there is no sign of you?_ Tharsis was indeed a large city, filled with many disreputable souls. Word traveled fast, especially to the reigning syndicate. This meant either Krait had ghosted out of the city during the day, or this Snake knew how to go to ground. 

 

The crunch of footsteps on the rooftop gravel caught his ear. Remaining outwardly relaxed, Spike shifted his hand toward his Jericho. With a glance over his right shoulder he spied the shadow in the faint light, the synthetic eye adapted instantly.

 

Lin.

 

Exhaling a breath of smoke he released the gun and plucked out the cigarette in one concealing move. “Got anything?”

 

Lin's shoulders hunched as he placed one foot up on the ledge. “Shin and I pounded every snitch we could find, every bum begging on the streets. No one has seen this guy. Are you sure the intel is correct?”

 

“Yeah.” Spike narrowed his eyes. “The lead is solid.”

 

A crow drifted on the current around the corner of the old hotel landing on the flickering neon sign. Ruffling feathers, it turned its head with a chattering caw.

 

After the conversation died, Lin cleared his throat and glanced at Spike. “Heard you and Vicious used to be inseparable.”

 

Spike shrugged, his eyes searching the city scape as though he could see through the buildings and find his prey. An impossible feat without some really major equipment.

 

“Seriously, Spike. Lately you two are running in different directions. The team is talking about how odd it is.”

 

“Is that right?” he muttered flatly. “That's not what they're supposed to be talking about, now is it.”

 

“Well, no. It's just that—”

 

“You are not involved in every discussion we have, Lin.” Just above his pocket, Spike's fingers absently toyed with the poker chip. “Vicious and I have our methods. Sometimes we can cover more area by dividing to our strengths. We have done it before. This is nothing new.”

 

Lin glanced at the strange tick of his superior and replied, “To listen to the older team members—”

 

“Isn't really accurate. Ironwall's team got cut down a couple years back, right before Vicious and I were assigned to him. Only a handful survived that ambush, some incapable of enforcing anymore. Vicious and I were free-runners before that incident when we happened to jump one of the lackey's late for the hit. Prior to us joining Ironwall's team, the only one who kept track of how we worked was Mao Yenrai. Don't read into what you hear from the team. I doubt there are many like Vicious and I anywhere else in this syndicate. We're intentionally tough reads.”

 

Lin buried his face in his jacket as the wind whipped up. “There are times when I swear you two hate each other.”

 

Flicking the cigarette butt out into the air, Spike watched the crow launch itself after the glowing ember and hover off on the wind with its prize. “It's complicated. But we're a lot closer than it looks. We've both intercepted one another's death blow, more than once.”

 

He blinked. “Really?”

 

“That's what partners do. We're like family. The bickering is part of it all. You hear that, we're fine. When it stops … that's when you can tell we're seriously divided.” Spike elbowed Lin. “Come on, you got a twin brother, you telling me you two don't get into scuffles?”

 

Lin grinned crookedly. “Well, yeah, we do, sometimes. I guess you're right, you two are tough reads.”

 

“Like I said, it's intentional. Makes it harder for people to guess what we're up to. Came in handy a lot when we first started out. The novice jobs of turning ISSP and government agents were a lot more fun when they couldn't guess which one of us was potentially negotiable.” Spike chuckled and pulled out another cigarette. “The key was it depended on any given day. Still does, actually. Man, there are days I miss the street runs. Ran into all sorts of shit out there.”

 

“You've been in a few years now.”

 

“Few? Coming up on the six year mark from my initiation.”

 

Lin's shoulders fell. “Oh, then you couldn't have been involved with the Bass Street Riot.”

 

Spike practically choked on his laugh. “You kidding? Vicious and I crashed that party! We weren't _supposed_ to be there. None of the fresh meat were supposed to. But it's not like that stopped us.”

 

Eyes widened as Lin stared in awe. “How?”

 

“We'd just finished trying to turn a couple of ISSP agents, our assigned task. Didn't go so well, though. Vicious ran his guy through, and I accidentally put mine in a permanent coma. Ehhh, happened quite a bit. We were idling when we heard the commotion. Of course, we had orders to stay out of any firefights, you know, standard fresh meat warnings. Screw those! We leapt into the fray, got good and bloody that night, back to back cutting a circle through the crowd. By morning, ducked under a bridge we thought no one had seen us.” Spike rubbed the back of his neck. “Found out we were dead wrong when we were dragged to Mao's.”

 

“Dragged?” Lin leaned forward.

 

Spike half-hooded his eyes with a grin. “Literally dragged. Wallace tore the crap out of my shirt. I got my revenge on his ass later when I took his belt and gravity stole his pants in front of the men. But still, to say Mao was pissed about our self-assigned task was … ehh, an understatement. Before we'd jumped into the whole mess we swore to stick by our decision. So it didn't matter how hard Mao pressed us, we stood side by side, chins up no matter how deep the mire got … ” he rolled his eyes, “for the next month of the shittiest duties Mao's evil mind could come up with. Let me tell you, he has quite an imagination when you piss him off.”

 

Lin blinked, “Like what?”

 

“Like—” A loud boom shattered the quiet night. Spike's head whipped to the east toward the rising smoke ball. He stiffened, his eyes wide. “The Skeleton Key!”

 

Leaping down onto the fire escape, Spike dashed down the alleyways closing on the bar with Lin in tow. A dense smog filled the swirling air. Orange glows outlined where the windows and doors blew out, already burning themselves low.

 

No one stood outside as witness. Spike pulled up the collar of his trench coat up and held it against his nose and mouth as he ducked inside. “Dizzy? … Dizzy, answer me! … ”

 

Deeper into the old brick building, the smoke swallowed Spike. “Anyone?”

 

*

 

Beneath the hazy lamplight Vicious's narrow eyes studied the smoldered remains of the bar. His shoes crunched the smoked glass shards in the empty street. Lin stood in the doorway, his head bowed as Vicious approached. “This is what the call was about? One of Spike's deplorable rat nests?”

 

“Sir.” Lin nodded and gestured inside.

 

“Should have known this wasn't actually important.” He pushed inside, avoiding the soot on the wall. Nothing remained standing in the fire gutted building. Ashen bodies lay strewn everywhere. Bricks cracked, all glass obliterated. On the edge of the collapsed stage, Spike sat cocked so his eyes stared at the smoking remains of an upright piano. Anger smoldered in those eyes. “Spike, need I remind you we're in the middle of a serious manhunt.”

 

Spike's teeth squealed as he ground them. “I was here.”

 

Vicious sighed. “Not surprising. This does seem like one of your usual shit holes.”

 

“No. I was **here**.” He jabbed his finger toward the piano. “Last night, talking to Dizzy! **This** is where I found out about Krait.”

 

Scuffing a foot on the floor, Vicious smirked. “A fool who speaks in public deserves to die.”

 

“It wasn't _in_ public.” Spike stormed behind the bar and tore open the small door, revealing the hidden room. “We spoke in here! No one else heard us. I don't know how Krait found out. But I'm gonna incinerate this prick, Vicious!”

 

“How do you know who it was? Fires happen. Look what we did to the Gilded Peacock and we weren't even trying.”

 

Spike tossed a peeled metal box at Vicious. “That's how. Serious shit. Inside is the kinda setup you do to create instant death. In a structure like this you don't bring the walls down. You use it to hold in the shock wave, to focus it back and kill everyone where they stand. You've seen me pull off that stunt. No one was to leave this place alive.”

 

Vicious tossed the bomb remnants aside and brushed his hands off. “Silence the squealer.”

 

“Send a message.” Spike growled, punching the wall. Powdered brick rained down. “This means Krait's still here in the city.”

 

“Great,” replied Vicious flatly, “the Hellhound's got a bone.”

 

Grabbing the braid of Vicious's jacket, Spike yanked him in. “If it wasn't for Dizzy we wouldn't know about Krait. Your sources haven't turned up shit.”

 

“And now your source is a pile of charcoal.” Vicious hissed, “Let go of my jacket before I slice your fingers off.”

 

Spike shoved him back against the wall and stormed out past Lin.

 

“Let him cool off.” Fixing his shirt, Vicious came to Lin's shoulder. “Come with me, your brother is already on a task.”

 

*

 

Images flashed on the screen fed by the dented broadcast receiver in Spike's seedy apartment. He slumped on the couch, barely watching. His thoughts spiraled over and over again into a tornado of destructive reasoning. How had this come to be? Had it even happened? Of course it had, Spike had stood in the gutted building. That time of night the place would have been packed. No one would have known, until … he shut his eyes.

 

Too close for comfort. Occasionally jobs got more than just standardly dirty. Innocent bystanders could get caught in the mix. Sure, Spike had even taken down buildings without making certain that everyone inside was involved. But this was a swing bar! There was no official link to the syndicate.

 

Spike stood and wandered along the paint flecked walls past the boxes of military marked grenades and C-4 into his makeshift bedroom. Flinging his phone onto the battered nightstand, he pulled out his Jericho and tucked it under his pillow. Not even unbuttoning his shirt, Spike ripped off his tie and pulled the garment over his head tossing it across the room.

 

“This bastard is serious. I owe it to Dizzy to bury him.” He paced the room. “I need an edge.”

 

The purple glint caught his attention. Reaching down into the duffle bag he grabbed a dispenser and a tube of Purple Eye seized from a thief a few days back. He had intended to hand it over at the tower, but hadn't yet made the run.

 

“Hmm, some say they can see the future with this stuff. Somehow I doubt that, but I know it speeds visual perception. What's that like?” Sliding the tube into the dispenser he held it up to his right eye and sprayed a half shot in. Blinking for a moment, he looked around the room and sighed. Nothing happened. “Well, that's disappointing.”

 

He lined the nozzle up with his left eye and gave it the same quick shot. One blink. The second he opened his eye he dropped the vial. The room violently turned. But only in one eye. The mish-moshed signals completely obliterated his equilibrium. A fly buzzed through the room … normal to his right eye, slowed to a crawl to his left. He took a step forward and the floor came up to meet him, smacking him upside the face. Hard!

 

Acid burned in Spike's throat, churned up from his stomach by the instability of his world. Shutting his eyes did little to shield him, for even behind the lids the mismatched signals assaulted his brain. Clawing at the floor boards, he fought for each breath before the tell-tale belch.

 

Everything he had eaten in the last day spilled onto the floor in a series of gut-twisting wretches. Left gasping, Spike dragged himself across the room stealing glimpses of the room through the synthetic eye. The ground twisted and warped every time his left opened. Throwing an arm over the edge of the bed, he dragged his shaking body onto the bed and yanked the covers over his head with a moan.

 

Sleep did not come. He lie there for hours fighting to keep his eyes shut against the uneven effects, swearing it was a thousand times worse than his first experiences with the eye. Misery fell short of his state of mind.

 

The phone vibrated. Not for the first time. But now Spike could at least wrench his eyes open and see halfway straight. Pulling the covers back he reached for the phone. His fingers wriggled in the air. He edged closer, still missing. With a grunt he reached and leaned too far. His fingers caught the phone as he toppled over the edge landing hard on his side. “Oof.”

 

The screen lit up.  _“Spike?”_

 

Picking up the phone, Spike held the screen so he would show right side up. With a sniff he muttered, “Yeah?”

 

Lin cringed on the screen.  _“Whoa! What's wrong? You look … green! Are you hungover?”_

 

“No.” He shut his eyes and opened them slowly. “I must have picked something up.”

 

“ _There's a flu that came over on a Callisto freighter. Could that be it?”_

 

Spike sighed. “Sure … sounds close.”

 

“ _You look terrible. You should go lie down.”_

 

Rolling his eyes, he winced. “I'm not precisely standing at the moment.”

 

Lin blinked. His face on the phone changed orientation as he turned the device. _“Are you on the floor?”_

 

“Maybe … ” Spike reached up and touched the mattress. “ … yup. Definitely the floor.”

 

“ _Get some sleep. I'll let Vicious know I reached you and you're sick.”_

 

“No. Don't tell him that.” Spike muttered. “Do me a favor … just tell him I'm busy. I'll check in when I can.”

 

Lin nodded. The screen went blank.

 

With a sigh, Spike tucked the phone in his pocket and steeled himself for the shaking climb back into his bed. Inch by inch, he crawled back up onto the old mattress mimicking the jerking motion of an chameleon. Pulling the blanket back over his body, he curled into a ball and shut his eyes tight.

 

“Never again! I swear if this passes … never again!”

 


	22. Session 22

_ **Session 22** _

 

“Under my real name? You're a bright one, aren't you. How do you still have a job? Of course I want the deed transferred under an alias!” Spike barked into his phone. “Yeah well, talk to your lazy-ass lawyer boss and make it happen. If someone else snatches up that place before you office rats get your job done, you'll get a pro bono office visit from me and I'll show you what _I_ do for the syndicate! I don't think you want a demonstration … oh? You really think I don't know where the office is? Tell me, which street does your boss's window open up to: Kanno, Watanabe, Nobumoto, or Kawamoto? … Heh heh, not so chatty now, are ya. I expect that deed transferred by the end of the day regardless of the cost. Non-negotiable.”

 

Seated on a stoop, he hung up the phone glancing at the screen in case he'd missed a message. Nothing else. “Tsh! Pain in the ass good for nothing suits. Wouldn't know a real workday if it bit them in the ass.” With a sigh he dropped the phone into his pocket and observed the gaggle of screaming children darting down the street in a game of tag. At the end of the block a group of teenagers hung out, advertising their high school affiliation on blue and white letter jackets.

 

“What was that about?” Shin asked from a few steps higher, his brother stood beside him.

 

Vaguely it occurred to Spike that the twins were close to the ages of the letter jacket clad crew. What a difference the steely-eyed pair were compared to their soft-belly schooled counterparts. Spike scarfed down the remainder of his hot dog leaving the silence to stretch out until Shin sighed.

 

Lin glanced down and remarked, “You must be over that flu from a few days ago.”

 

With half-hooded eyes Spike cleared his throat. The sound silenced any further remark.

 

Changing the subject, Lin averted his gaze. “Spike, I thought you said Vicious would be meeting us here.”

 

“He'll be along shortly. Just be ready.”

 

Lin cocked his head. “Are we really going to hit them today? I'm going to assume the answer is yes considering your attire.”

 

Spike wiped his hands on his jeans. “I don't plan on walking in the front door if the info pans out. That's what took me so long to get here. I had to make a run off to Deseado this morning, deal with some black market buddies.” His foot tapped the duffle bag.

 

Down the street Vicious appeared in his black trench coat. With his head bowed he walked along the curb toward them. Lin tapped his fingers on the wrought iron railing. “Well, we're about to find out if our time has been wasted.”

 

Leaning his elbows on the step behind, Spike sighed. “I suspect since he took longer that there were details. You know how thorough Vicious is.” A moment later, he narrowed his eyes at the group of letter-jackets. They whispered and pointed toward Vicious, a flash of metal partially concealed in one of their hands. He muttered flatly, “Oh shit.”

 

The twins straightened up and peered. It took them a moment, but a fraction of the time before Vicious entered the proximity of the teens, they gasped. Spike raised a hand to keep them there. “Don't.”

 

“But they're gonna—”

 

“This is Vicious. He knows.”

 

“How can you tell? He's still walking into them.”

 

Spike watched impassively. “He knew right about the time I read their intentions.” The jocks grouped around Vicious, blocking his path and pressing in on him. “Of course, they think they have a muscular edge.” The metal flashed out, brandished in front of Vicious down cast face. A short blade. “Well, that's the last time this punk is going to pull that move. Shit, we don't need a bloodbath. You two stay here.”

 

Casually Spike closed in the distance, picking up on the threats from the jocks. “Give us your money, old man! Or we're gonna cut your ass!”

 

_Shink._ The katana blade partially cleared the sheath.

 

“Yo.” Spike shouldered his way through the young thugs to Vicious's side. “Been waiting for ya.”

 

“Hey!” One of the jocks jabbed a finger at Spike's chest. “This old man is ours. Better get out of here, I could snap you like a twig.”

 

Spike swatted his hand away and continued to address Vicious. “If you're done messing with these flies, I'd like to know, are they there?”

 

Vicious's feral glance at him through the strings of white hair spoke volumes of his attempt at self control. He wrung his hand on the hilt of the sword. A slight attempt to evade the ring of degenerates was rendered impossible.

 

One of the boy's leaned back, winding up for a punch. Spike slipped back out of the way with a nod of his head. The katana hissed out of its sheath and slashed down catching the boy's necklace, slicing clean through. The pendant flew over their heads. The boy with the knife took a step back, gripping the hilt tighter. “You … you don't know how to … use that … it's just for show.”

 

Spike winked at the speaker. “Oh, he does. What are those letters in? You're shittin' me. Boxing?”

 

“Yeah.” A heavy-weight stepped up and thumped his knuckles together. “We're champs. And we're gonna mop the floor with you.”

 

“I highly doubt that.” Spike slouched. “But you can try if you really want. Though, I do suggest your buddy puts his toy away before my buddy carves him like the blockhead he is.”

 

“What are you, some deadbeat dropout?” The heavy-weight laughed and sunk into a stance. “I hate dropouts.”

 

“Well, it's kinda hard to drop out of a joint you never set foot in. But frankly, I can't stand a moron who allows his chest to be used as a billboard.”

 

The knife-wielder grinned and danced, “Come on, we've got these two outnumbered. Let's cut 'em up!”

 

“Partner.” Vicious growled just above his breath. “I think we need a warm-up before our rendezvous.”

 

“They are volunteering after all.” He plucked out the poker chip and gave it flick. It landed crown up in his palm. Spike tucked it back in his pocket and flashed a lazy grin at the heavy-weight. “Alright, I'll take mittens, you get to carve stabby blockhead.”

 

A slow grin stretched Vicious's lips. “You have to work on your nicknames.”

 

“Eh. I call 'em like I see 'em. Alright, mittens, I dare you to hit me.”

 

“I don't need your permission. Eat fist, fuckhead!” He thrust forward, leading with his fist aimed at Spike's face. Fist met brick wall with a crackle. He withdrew his bleeding hand and stared at the mangled knuckles.

 

Spike clocked him upside the head with an open palm strike. The heavy-weight staggered and fell backward onto one of the others. “School of Hard-knocks, first lesson: Never announce your attack. Well, unless you want your opponent to beat your ass. Then go right ahead.”

 

Vicious lifted his head to reveal his smile to his opponent over the length of his blade. The knife-wielder caught the attention focused on him and stiffened. He curled his lip and widened his stance, trying to look fierce. Vicious scoffed, “Children shouldn't play with sharp objects. They might get dismembered.”

 

“That's no—OOOWW!” Vicious's blade cut though both his words and fingers simultaneously. The jock recoiled, gripping what remained of his hand.

 

Angered by the fouled turn of events, the heavy-weight pushed up from the group and rounded on his target. Spike made a show of looking at the guy's shoulder patch. The idiot followed the gaze, so Spike drove his elbow into his side. The jock doubled over into a waiting palm strike to his face. “Lesson two: don't be a dumb-ass and fall for the oldest tricks in the book. Hell, you're such a quick study, let's skip to lesson three.” He grabbed the brute by his shoulder and swept his legs out from beneath. Leaning over the boy and cracking his knuckles. “Fight in your own league. Never cross an opponent who can kill you and your posse without even trying.”

 

At the last second, Spike leapt out of the way. Vicious's sword sliced the patch right off the heavy-weight's shoulder, along with a fair amount of flesh. The boys stared in horror before scrambling to gain distance.

 

Vicious sheathed his blade. Walking down the street he snapped, “Old man? Stupid kids. No respect.”

 

“It's the hair, partner.” Spike rolled his eyes. “They apparently aren't teaching anything in schools now-a-days. Glad I didn't waste my time.”

 

“I didn't need your help.”

 

“Oh, I know. I just wanted in on the fun. Like you said, a warm-up. I take it that's a good thing?” Spike eyed him, noting the nod. “Indeed. So, the rumor's true. We did trip across where the Blue Snakes are holding our pinched Purple Eye brewers. Heh. Just remember, for once we aren't out to kill everyone in the joint. I'll have to adjust the plan.”

 

“I see you brought back-up.” Vicious glanced at the twins standing at the ready.

 

Spike nodded and brought out the poker chip. “Alright, let's see who gets to play hero.” He flicked it into the air.

 

*

 

Spike padded along the dimly-lit rows of crates in the warehouse, the small duffle bag slung over his far shoulder by a strap, locking it across his back. The place was quiet. Too quiet. He rapped his knuckles on a shipping container and listened to the dust rain down.

 

Yup. Too quiet.

 

Footsteps shuffled his way, a shadow appeared at the far end of the corridor.

 

“Hey.” Spike waved a hand. “S'up?”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Eh? Who me? Just somebody up to no good.”

 

The guard cocked his head. “You're trespassing, punk.”

 

“Oh, I know. You could say karma whispered the address and told me to pay a visit here.”

 

At that, the guard grinned. “Did you say karma?”

 

“Yeah, she's a real bitch.”

 

“You have noooooo idea.”

 

Spike stiffened as the click of claws on the bare floor echoed between the crates. He glanced toward the sound to see a rottweiler bearing its teeth.

 

The guard laughed, “Karma, sic 'em, girl!”

 

“Shit!” Skidding for traction, Spike took off down the narrow paths with the slobbering dog on his heels. She was fast, gaining too rapidly for straight evasion. “Vicious forgot to mentioned a dog!” He caught the edge of a container and swung up in a quick series of flips, catching hold of the open rafters. Perched above, he glared down at the lunging dog.

 

The guard sauntered up and laughed. “Hey, intruder. You'll have to come down eventually.”

 

“You think you cornered me, you son of a bitch?” Spike huffed.

 

“Speak of the devil, Fate, here boy.” A second dog came barreling through the crates.

 

“Seriously?” Spike smirked. “Karma and Fate? You lunkheads think you were being clever or something?”

 

The guard just grinned.

 

As amusing as this was, Spike recognized he had a problem. From here he could see the other three picking the door lock at the back. Like clockwork, everything went as planned, well everything except the dogs. Below Spike stood the only Blue Snake with an outside line. Sure, Spike was up a proverbial tree, but he needed to get out of these rafters to finish the main objective of his job. Atop the nearby shipping canister he spied a flat disc, it looked like a discarded hubcap. With a grin he leaned over and snatched it. Reaching into his duffle bag he searched for a small object. In a moment he fed a small coil along the edges of the disc.

 

“Look, you little punk,” the guard leaned against a crate, “come on down and I promise I'll have them finish you quickly.”

 

Spike flashed a grin. “I got a better idea.” He whistled. The dogs stopped barking and snapped to attention, focused on the object in his hands. He gave it a good toss, letting the disc soar through the air on a wobbly path. “Fetch!”

 

Karma and Fate bounded away, abandoning the befuddled guard.

 

Spike swung down and landed in the aisle, crouched in front of the guard.

 

“You're screwed once they return.”

 

Spike revealed the remote and hit the button. A muted _thooom_ accompanied by a pair of yelps filled the air. The guard stepped back, his eyes widened as he got his first good look at Spike. “Ohhh shit! You're … you're … the Hellhound!”

 

“What's wrong?” Spike stood up and stretched. “Does that suddenly worry you?”

 

The guard backpedaled, falling against a crate and scrambling for a gun he failed to grasp. The weapon tumbled across the floor. He brought his hands together. “Don't kill me!”

 

The plea did nothing to halt Spike's slow advance. He faked a strike. The guard squealed and curled into a ball. “Kinda sad that this is what we find. Where's your boss, Krait?”

 

His complexion paled. “Not here. He left us with the cargo to go make plans for the transport.”

 

Kneeling over the guard, Spike rifled through his vest and took out the phone, flicking through the contents rapidly. “So, he leaves you out of the loop? Not a shred of useful information?”

 

“N—no! Nothing.”

 

“Then you are useless.” Spike plucked a grenade out his bag. Holding the trigger, he yanked the pin and stripped off a wrapper, jamming the grenade into the guard's hand. “See this trigger? The longer you hold it, the longer you live. So, don't let go, there's a good boy.”

 

The guard shrieked, still holding the trigger down he tried to lob the grenade. It remained adhered to his palm. Spike stood nearby, sifting through the phone while the guard tried to pry the weapon out of his hand. “Hellhound! Give me the pin! Let me go, I don't know anything!”

 

“I figured if you did, you would have said something by now. But it looks like your phone knows a few things. A friend of mine is going to love this windfall. Oh, give up on getting that grenade free. You'll need to take your skin off to do that.” Spike started to walk away toward the sound of the distant scuffle dwindling down. “Your boss has been a slippery bastard and a thorn in our sides. That means it's our job to become a thorn in his.”

 

On his knees with his finger trembling on the trigger, the guard wailed, “Please! My finger is cramping!”

 

“Not my problem. Besides, sounds like my crew is done with yours.” Striding away, Spike dropped the phone into his pocket to the grunts of the guard furiously trying to pry loose his certain demise. Outside the warehouse, Spike watched as the three Dragons led five underground chemists toward him.

 

Vicious glanced over his shoulder as a loud bang shook the warehouse walls. “Don't tell me that was it.”

 

“You know me better than that.” Spike held up the remote. “Nah, that was my play toy succumbing to cramped fingers. You know how long I spent wiring the place. _This_ is it.”

 

He hit the button and the place dissolved into a spray of metal and fire. The chemists' bruised eyes reflected the flames. They clung to one another.

 

Vicious smiled. “I think even Krait saw that. Did you get where he's hiding?”

 

“Maybe. But not from the stooge. He didn't know anything.”

 

“Are you certain?”

 

“Yeah, once I adhered the grenade to his palm he would have spoken if he knew anything. “Spike tossed him the phone. “Have at it. Same lame ass code as last time, they never learn. These pricks are just annoying.”

 

 


	23. Session 23

_ **Session 23** _

 

Ironwall paced the upstairs meeting room, wending his way through the full team scattered about. At the central table Jovi and Kip stared at the map of Tharsis. Spike sat on the windowsill, his eyes half-closed, head resting against the grimy pane. Like a vulture, Vicious stared from the doorway, his fingers idly toyed with the rank braid on his jacket.

 

“The Blue Snakes have gotten bolder in their strikes. Thirteen independent chemists have been snatched from their labs. Our supply lines had been threatened. However, we have turned the tide. Throughout our districts alone our team has recovered seven chemists in the last three days. That only leaves six more unaccounted for.”

 

Vicious's toneless voice interrupted Ironwall. “And once we recover them we'll have to do it all over again next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. We are enforcers for the syndicate. Not chemist-sitters.”

 

Bristling, Ironwall held up a finger. “You are what you are told to be, Vicious. Odd to hear such a rebuke from you considering your team was lauded for the biggest break.”

 

“Yah.” Spike remained staring at nothing at all. “But idle praise doesn't solve the biggest problem. It's impossible to keep dozens of these guys secure when they're spread out all over the place just asking to be snatched. This is a perpetual fool's errand.”

 

Silence stretched out. The eyes of every grunt stared in shock. Even Ironwall balked for a second before recovering himself. He glanced between the two, rubbing his chin. “You two have been plotting something.”

 

Vicious nodded. “Four hours of dissecting and researching a plan.”

 

“I think we both got tired of hearing our own opinions.” Spike leapt down from the windowsill, stretching as he approached the table. “But we both realized the ludicrous oversight of the syndicate.”

 

“Spike!” Ironwall growled, “Might I remind you—”

 

“Yeah yeah, well listen up before you summon a firing squad.” Dragging his fingers on the map, Spike pointed to the spread out labs. “As it is right now our independent chemists, the life-blood of the Red Dragon syndicate, are spread out in over two dozen underground labs throughout Tharsis alone. Each of these schmucks is left to their own devices to protect their business. These are guys who think a car battery and jumper cables attached to a door knob are a foolproof theft deterrent. Which, trust me, does nothing for the thief wielding a sledgehammer to the wall. These druggies are just asking to be taken.”

 

Vicious slid up to the map across the table from Spike. “When the Red Dragon was in its infancy such an oversight was forgivable. But it has grown sufficient to attract attention. Given the resources now available it is only fitting that the organization absorbs its lifeblood into a single entity, in one location, properly protected. That returns us to our regular duty of dealing with scum like Krait without being forced to repeatedly rescue stolen property.”

 

Staring at the map, Ironwall shook his head. “We are not in the position to suggest such a tactic.”

 

Vicious eyed him. “We are also not _heroes_. I detest having to be careful.”

 

Lighting a cigarette, Spike took his time to return the lighter to his pocket. His eyes fixed hard on Ironwall. “Right now we're using a lot of firepower to recover a bunch of TJ rejects who dove here under the promise of vast riches. The more often we are forced to pull our punches to save these schmucks we depend on, the less effective we are. In one building, secured like the tower, a smaller squad can be dedicated to chemist-sitting.”

 

“It's not like the syndicate doesn't already possess suitable property.” Vicious leaned over the map and pointed to no less than eight possible locations. “Each of these would require minimal renovations to make it suitable and secure. A squad of six to ten men, depending on the location selected, would do the trick.”

 

Ironwall's jaw slackened. He glanced to Spike who gave a slight nod before plucking the cigarette from his mouth to remark dryly, “Yes, before you ask, he pulled the records and blueprints for each of them. It was positively riveting. Please don't give him reason to do it again. The Van would be committing suicide to continue to operate as they do.”

 

“No. We cannot approach them with this.”

 

“Fine.” Vicious pulled out his phone. “If you are too weak to listen, then it's time to bring Mao on board.”

 

He stiffened. “I didn't say—”

 

“Mao.” Putting it on video speaker Vicious propped the phone in the center of the table. “Ironwall has something he wants you to hear.”

 

“ _Yes? What is it?”_

 

Ironwall glared at the two roguish officers before moving into the screen. “There is talk about reorganizing the chemists to keep them out of the Blue Snake's hands. I'm not sure, but you may have something to bring before the Van.”

 

“ _Ironwall, why is there so much tension in your voice? You know I am receptive to new ideas.”_

 

“It's … nothing.” He glanced at Spike and Vicious who both watched him with conspiratorial grins. “I just didn't expect to bring this up so soon. It's not thought all the through.”

 

“Bullshit.” Spike muttered.

 

Mao's gaze shifted toward Spike.  _“Alright, what have you two been up to?”_

 

“Saving the syndicate's ass, as usual.” He shrugged.

 

“ _I take it from Ironwall's clenched jaw that you two sprung it on him?”_

 

“What gives you that idea?” Vicious rolled his fingers.

 

Spike grumbled, “Ironwall is just upset about putting all the eggheads in one basket.”

 

“ _Eggheads?”_ Mao wrinkled his brow. _“The chemists? All in one … hrm … that's risky.”_

 

Smugly, Ironwall crossed his arms. “I tried to tell them that would be problem.”

 

“ _Unless we pull Slider from Venus to design the security.”_

 

Ironwall blanched.

 

“Damn, you read our minds.” Spike elbowed Vicious. “That came up in the fourth hour of discussion. I'm sure Slider would be up to the task. Anyone who tried to break in would be grilled, sliced, and mulched. Which is the general idea of a lock tight box.”

 

“ _Alright, let's have this from the beginning.”_

 

By the time they disconnected, Ironwall had retreated to a corner with Jovi and Kip unable to keep up with the rapid chatter. Spike shot Vicious a crooked grin, “And you thought he would say no. Mao knows when we're onto something.”

 

“He knows that look in your eye when you have a plan. How many times did he anticipate your little late night heists breaking into his mansion?”

 

Spike half-hooded his eyes. “He only caught me twice out of at least three dozen. Shit, not like I did a whole lot. Just enjoyed the thrill of seeing how many rooms I could unlock before someone woke up. And I don't recall you ever complaining whenever I got back.”

 

“You bribed the whole dorm into silence.”

 

Spike shrugged. “Of course, who could complain through a mouthful of caramels? That was the whole idea and why I always hit the pantry first. You're just pissed cause you didn't think of it first. Now,” he addressed Ironwall, “how about we let Mao work out the details with the Van while get back to our regular duties? Let's find Krait and cut the head off a snake!”

 

 


	24. Session 24

_ **Session 24** _

 

Smoke billowed up from the abandoned tenement apartment. Spike covered his nose and mouth with the lapel of his trench coat. He peered into the carcass of the building with his gun at the ready. “No dice. They cut and run, again. Torched it to get rid of the evidence. There's nothing here to follow.”

 

“Tsh. That's the third one!” Vicious slashed at the door frame with his katana.

 

“And that was helpful how?” Spike rolled his eyes.

 

“I feel better.” He kicked the splintered chuck of wood sending it clattering into the charred debris. “I'd feel elated if this nest still had something for me to stab.”

 

“You have emotions other than apathy and rage?”

 

Vicious stared hard at him, shoving the katana back in its sheath. “You're sure there's nothing to be gained from here?”

 

“Incinerated.” The building let out a groan. Spike glanced up and took several hasty steps back. “They used an accelerant to gut the structure. Going in would be suicide. Not the _blaze of glory_ I have in mind for exiting this world.”

 

Stalking away, Vicious growled over his shoulder, “There has to be a way to get the drop on them. They're toying with us by staying in the city.”

 

Striding alongside him, Spike laced his fingers behind his head. “They're luring us to these places as a diversion. To be honest, I'm not convinced that place was a real bolt hole. They must be hiding in a crevice somewhere.”

 

In a tremendous crash the building collapsed into rubble. Neither looked back.

 

“You know what this means, Spike. We need to stop trailing these little pests and start hunting them. I refuse to be baited any longer. The next strike will be at Krait personally.”

 

Spike glanced at him sideways. “That sounds like you have an idea.”

 

*

 

Across the desk from Vicious, Spike rested his chin on his folded arms a breath away from snoring. With a hard focus on his computer screen, Vicious punched through the multiple searches.

 

“Vicious, I thought you said this hacker set you up with the proper software to nab these guys. It's been a week of this, hours on end and not even a damn hit.” He yawned, staring at the reverse side of the screen with a big fat nothing.

 

“Trust me. Hackjob knows what he's doing.”

 

“Hackjob?” Spike laughed. “You're seriously trusting some dope with a nickname like that?”

 

Vicious narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Because he's broken into the Martian government servers before. He's young, but he knows how to design tracers.”

 

“What the hell are you even looking for? A needle in a haystack?”

 

“Basically, yes. We know the Blue Snakes have a headquarters somewhere in the city. So, the program is systematically cross-referencing power draw from the past … ”

 

“Blah blah blah, just tell me when you get it narrowed down.” Spike heaved a sigh and pulled out the poker chip from his suit pocket, flipping and catching it in one hand. After a few minutes he got up and started to pace the room, restless from the ridiculous task he couldn't assist with. He paused at the window and narrowed his eyes, the chip stalling in his hand. “Vicious? Was that on the side of the Red Dragon tower before?”

 

“What are you talking about?” He impatiently snapped. But the moment Vicious turned he blinked at the small transponder dish leeched onto the corner of the building, a water stain trail betraying that it had been there at least a few months. Vicious leaned against the window pane. “No. That was _certainly not_ there when I bought this office.”

 

“Heh. I didn't think so.” Spike rubbed his chin. “I wonder … you don't happen to still have the signal grappler we filtched from the gear locker?”

 

Vicious opened a cabinet and pulled out a modified gun with a cartridge, a sharp copper pin stuck out of the end of a coiled wire. He handed it to Spike who had opened the window. “I take it you want to do the honors?”

 

“It's your computer.” Spike leaned out the window, closing his left eye to line up the shot across the busy street. The wind buffeted his tie.“Jack it into your computer and queue up the tracer. Maybe we've been trying too hard.” He squeezed the trigger. The probe pierced the cord at the bottom of the dish connecting to the small black box at its base. “Bullseye!”

 

“Standby.” Vicious's leaned over the computer. “We're getting a feed. No, this is not from us … ” He held his breath. “Those bastards!”

 

Dropping off the sill, Spike cocked his head at the numbers displayed on the screen. On a window layer below, a light flashed over an old church in the south end of town. “Wait a minute, is that Red Summit Cathedral? We already checked those ruins out. There was nothing there.”

 

“Above ground, yes.” Vicious pulled up the power draw records. “This is coming from below.”

 

“The old service tunnels?” He furrowed his brow. “That's a warren down there. They risk getting chased into a dead end. In fact, that'd be likely. A quick storming with the element of surprise and we could end this turf war.”

 

Vicious pulled the grapple back inside and shut the window. A wild smile crossed his features. “What are we waiting for?”

 

Still studying the map of the tunnels, Spike chewed on his lip. “If we're going to cut them off we'll need more than the two of us. I'll call in … ”

 

Vicious swatted his hand from reaching for the cell phone. “Nonsense. We're fast and fierce enough. Think about what stories they'll tell when we come back having taken out the Blue Snake's hole? Come on, Spike. This is a chance to prove we have what it takes to run things.”

 

“Ahhh, we'd have to come in from two different sides to block them off and hope they don't run into these side corridors. If we lose the element of surprise your plan might not work at all.” Spike plucked out the poker chip.

 

Vicious scowled. “You can't just trust me? A few minutes ago you were itching to get out there.”

 

“I guess so.” His fingers hesitated, pushing the chip onto the thumb. He flicked it.

 

Vicious snatched it from the air and hurled it back at him. “Come on. Grab your gear and let's go flush out the vermin.”

 

Swinging into his trench coat, Spike grumbled, “I don't like this one bit.”

 

*

 

Side by side Spike and Vicious peered down into the gap in the basement wall of the church. Keeping his voice low, Vicious pointed. “You see? No one is watching.”

 

“That's what bothers me.” Spike glanced around in the shadows. There was nothing. Not even a lame-ass trap. “Vicious, these guys aren't _that_ stupid. They know they're in _our_ territory.”

 

“Right, so let's give them a warm welcome.” He slipped through into the service tunnels.

 

With a sigh Spike followed, drawing his gun. In the dark concrete passage he spied Vicious's white hair as he made his way to the right down a far passage. Spike kept to the left, tiptoeing through. Every few steps he held his breath. Nothing echoed. This didn't feel right. He searched for any signs of an LED signifying a trap. But there were none visible.

 

Approaching the pinch point where the tunnels converged into a central room, he paused. The shuffle of footsteps caught his attention. Through the doorway a ray of blueish light flashed into the corridor. Cautiously he peered into the room to find it filled with a bank of computer displays. Aside from Vicious leering in the other door, they were alone.

 

“What the hell?”

 

“Well,” Vicious came to his side, “we've found their place. But where are they?”

 

The reflection in the monitor caught Spike's eye a second before the first shot rang out from Vicious's doorway. He spun as a hellfire of bullets rained out from behind them. “Shit! They're behind us!” He fired off a few impotent shots, no time to even aim. In a conga line of doom, too many gunmen choked the tunnel, flooding into the room. With no place to take cover, he realized they had seconds to dash back the way he had come or risk getting cut off completely. The odds had turned into a full out shit storm!

 

Stubbornly, Vicious reached for the Colt Commander preparing to draw it. A string of automatic fire peppered the ground toward him.

 

“Look out!” Spike cried and collided with him, ramming him back toward the door.

 

Vicious howled as the raking fire struck the back of his right thigh. Scrambling to push him through the door, Spike arched his head back as a bullet pelted his right shoulder blade. Firing back didn't matter now. He gave a brutal shove to his partner, throwing him through the doorway. By the collar, Spike dragged the struggling Vicious, growling “Give it up! We have to get out of here!”

 

“Coward!” Vicious shouted.

 

The men stormed the doorway. Spike snatched out a grenade and lobbed it over his shoulder, hastening his steps. The Blue Snakes rounded the corner just as the frag-grenade exploded.

 

Lamed by the bullet Vicious's leg buckled. Spike braced him up. “Come on, we need to get to cover fast! That debris won't block them for long.”

 

As they entered the basement of the church, Vicious snapped, “We should have held our ground.”

 

“There was no ground to hold! We were outnumbered. And they had uzis.” Spike glared at his partner. “That's a lot of bouncing bullets in a tight space.” Voices carried up the stair case below them. “Shit, we're not gonna make it to your place. We'll have to lay low somewhere else.” Kicking the rear door of the cathedral open, he turned down an alley. “I have just the place.”

 

*

 

Vicious scowled as Spike stuffed him into a tiny brick room in a burnt out bar. He knew this place. The old Skeleton Key. Spike shut and bared the door before grasping the chain on the hanging bulb. The swinging yellow light cast shadows. He plucked out his phone and punched the keys.

 

Irate voices broke through the oppressive silence from the other side. Spike dropped his phone back in his pocket and pulled out his gun with his left hand. Gradually the sound grew more distant. Relaxing his guard, he replaced his gun and leaned against the wall.

 

Looking around the room in distaste, Vicious huffed a breath. “This place is still standing?”

 

“Yeah. I bought it after the incident so no one would level it. Looks like it came in handy as a bolt hole. How's your leg?”

 

“Fine.” He snapped. But the second he shifted it, his breath hitched from the jolt of flaring pain. “Damn it!”

 

Spike pulled out his knife and grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey lying on the floor. He dipped the blade in. “Hold still.”

 

Vicious tried to withdraw, but the small room left no space. His partner ripped open the pant leg and probed the flesh around the puncture. “Ahhh!”

 

“Sorry. Good news is, it's not deep. Went in at an angle.” Spike leaned in closer, the blade approaching. “Right about … here.”

 

Vicious clenched his jaw. Searing fire shot down his leg as the blade pried out the bullet with a deft flick. He fought hard not to punch Spike as he removed his own tie and wrapped it around the fresh pooling blood, stemming the flow.

 

“There. That should do the trick for now.” He sat back on his heels, his left hand reached up to his right shoulder. “At least until we're clear to get out of here. Give them a few, they'll get bored.”

 

_Out of here? Why are we hiding?_ His hands clenched into fists. “We should have fought it out.”

 

“That would have been suicide.” Spike blinked. “If we'd had—”

 

Vicious slammed both his palms into Spike's shoulders, throwing him back against the wall. “If you hadn't been a coward—your actions betrayed our plan! Why did you run?”

 

Spike didn't answer. He struck the crumbling bricks with a cry and slumped sideways. A smear of red glazed the wall.

 

“We had the Blue Snakes in our sights!” Vicious balled up a fist and shook it. “Instead of going back to the syndicate as victors we'll be returning with our tails between our legs. You've made fools of us. Well? Are you going to say anything for yourself?”

 

Spike inhaled sharply, his eyes clenched tight. But there were no words.

 

In the dim ligh,t Vicious watched as Spike's breath grew shallower, his face slackened. Curling his lip, Vicious pumped his fist in the ominous silence.  _Serves his ass right._

 

A knock on the door some time later broke Vicious from his trance. Mao's voice carried through, “Open up, Spike. It's me.”

 

Vicious reached up and unbarred the door. The moment it opened a relieved Mao reached in and helped him hobble out. Mao glanced down at the field dressing. “Are you alright?”

 

That earned Mao a grunt as Vicious leaned against the wall outside of the room. _I'm fine. What's the big deal?_

 

Mao leaned back into the room. “Spike?” When he didn't move, he darted in and swept over him, prying his eyes open. “Spike! Answer me!”

 

“He was fine a bit ago.” Vicious replied flatly. “It was entirely his idea to come here.”

 

“I know, he sent me a message.” Mao rolled him forward revealing a pool of blood collecting in the pile of bricks under his right shoulder. Blanching, Mao immediately ripped his own tie off and sinched it as best as he could around the wound. “He needs a surgeon, now!”

 

“It's just a bit of blood … ”

 

“He's in shock, Vicious! That's more than a little blood loss.” Gathering Spike's lolling body in his arms, Mao looked like a dwarf as he passed Vicious and staggered out through the torched bar.

 

Vicious stiffened, glaring as he was forced to limp behind on his own. Mao abandoned him with only the trail of blood drops to follow in the night.

 


	25. Session 25

_ **Chapter 25** _

 

Standing in the corner of the surgeon's office, Mao balled his fists at his sides. Well after-hours, there wasn't so much as an assistant, just the bleary eyed surgeon who lived above where he worked. Mao failed to even remember his name in the haste, all that mattered had been reaching the closest surgeon on the syndicate's payroll. In the adjacent room the commotion only served to fuel Mao's anger. Ten minutes ago he had peered through the door, drawn by the sudden din. A disoriented Spike, revived enough from a partial blood transfusion, struggled against the surgeon's efforts to explain what happened.

 

Vicious rubbed his wounded leg as he sat cocked in a chair. “He took a single bullet, now he's acting like a child.”

 

“A single bullet?” Mao's eyebrows knit. His gaze narrowed at what appeared to be Spike's tie used as a field dressing, considering that Vicious still wore his own. “Neither one of you were authorized for a run on that side of town. Vicious, for the last time, what were you doing? Tell me the truth this time!”

 

Heaving a sigh, Vicious pointed into the other room. “It was his idea to take a crazy run at the Red Summit Cathedral. The Blue Snakes ambushed us. I had to drag him out, he still wanted to fight them.”

 

“And so you dragged him to the place _he_ secretly bought?” Mao folded his arms. “ _You_ dragged _him_ with _your_ wounded leg?”

 

Vicious returned a steady gaze, inclining his chin. “Anything for my partner. I remember our oath.”

 

“Do you?” Mao's hands shook. The words of a long ago conversation with Leonard flooded his mind …

 

“ _I have spent enough time observing, Mao. There is only one course of action if you insist on initiating Vicious.” Leonard stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring out the dojo window._

 

“ _You have warned me of his fiery nature more than once. But his drive holds great power, something the syndicate desperately needs.”_

 

“ _His drive is inherently destructive. Harnessing it has proven uneven at best. He lacks even a shred of self-discipline. A beast such as he requires a catalyst to focus. No previous candidate has proven resilient to Vicious's arrogance.”_

 

“ _Except Spike.”_

 

_Leonard nodded slowly. “Do you know why? Comprehending this will be critical in moving forward. For a single misstep will prove disastrous and you will find yourself dragged in the aftermath of a collision you cannot possibly stop.”_

 

_Mao cocked his head. “You know I respect your counsel, friend.”_

 

“ _Neither boy is like anything we have seen before. By nature both are fearless, touched with survival instincts that run subconsciously to a degree that neither can suppress their innate drive. The difference lies within their spirits. Vicious strives for power, and will do anything to seize it. Every moment of his life is choreographed to display his assumed superiority. Spike's drive shirks what others think of him, thus he bears himself with greater confidence through a healthy regard for self-discipline. When Spike steps to the line, it's not a performance to impress. It is simply an expression of who he is. As long as his actions give him a place he belongs, he will be content.”_

 

“ _That hardly sounds disastrous.”_

 

“ _Mao.” Leonard shook his head. “If you let Vicious run solo his desire will remain unchecked to the point where he will sacrifice anything to rise. **Anything**. I understand your wish to keep your promise to his mother. But giving him a place in the syndicate alone would be a folly.” Reluctantly, Leonard continued. “Honor bind him to another that he respects, even grudgingly, and there is a chance that he may prove decisive enough not to bite the hand that made him.”_

 

“ _An honor binding?” Mao's breath caught. “But … you know what that means!”_

 

“ _I do not take such a ritual lightly. And neither will Spike, I have seen how much trust means to him, it is why he rarely extends it. The question you must ask yourself is ...” Leonard met his eyes, sorrow shifted in their depths, “are you willing to risk them both to fulfill your promise for one? Vicious is not your blood, he belongs to the Basilisk.”_

 

_Mao bowed his head. “Who abandoned his son ...”_

 

“ _And you inherited his responsibility by choice when you took Vicious in. Will you shackle Spike with the task of keeping his nature in check until the inevitable day when the balance shifts? Vicious won't deign to be held back once he realizes that is what the binding was meant to accomplish. When that happens the backlash of broken trust will unleash a side of Spike I dare not imagine. Neither will bow—one or both will break. Your empire will crumble.” …_

 

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” A pained cry from the room turned their heads.

 

“Mao!” the surgeon shouted, “I need a hand in here.”

 

Shaking a fist in front of Vicious, Mao snapped, “Don't think for a moment that this discussion is finished.” He darted into the room up to the blood-soaked table.

 

Laying on his left side, Spike panted and thrashed under the surgeon's grip. The transfusion IV still pumped away into his left arm, the bag nearly empty. Spike's eyes darted around the room not focusing on anything. The puncture behind his shoulder blade seeped a slow trickle of blood, a bulge toward the inside edge of the bone told where the bullet was.

 

The surgeon exhaled with relief as Mao entered. “Grab his right arm. He keeps jerking out of the way.”

 

Taking Spike's trembling arm, Mao pinned it against the table. “You haven't numbed it?”

 

“Course I did, a local. If I'd had a nurse I could have put him under all the way, but I'm not about to do that to a patient with shaky vitals without someone on the monitor. Especially when that patient is attached to a syndicate where his death would mean my sudden secret disposal. This would be easier if he stayed put. Not that I blame him. The damn thing is wedged in a nest of nerves.” The surgeon gabbed a pair of forceps and leaned closer to the shoulder. “I put as much as I could in him to deaden it, but that cluster is an angry mess at the moment with the bullet shifting up into it. Doesn't help that some of the local snuck into a vein. He'll be alright, but I can't say the disorientation from that drug trip is helping any. That shit in a vein kinda screws with perception.”

 

Mao locked eyes with Spike, there was no focus there, just pinpoints of panic. “Take it easy, Spike. Just a bit longer.”

 

“Alright, brace yourself.” The surgeon gave Mao a moment to steel his grip. A moment later that proved vital. The second the forceps entered the wound Spike thrashed like a wild beast, nearly tearing his arm loose from Mao's hold. But he redoubled his efforts and leaned forward onto the limb, trapping it beneath his chest. Spike's piercing scream lasted longer than seemed possible before the tink of the bullet discarded into a tray ended it all.

 

Eyes rolled back, the tension fled from Spike's body.

 

The surgeon wiped his own forehead. “Tried to tell him it would feel better once I got that damn rock out of there.”

 

Mao kept a hand on Spike's arm feeling the race of his pulse beneath his fingers. “How bad is the damage?”

 

Closing the wound, the surgeon shook his head. “The bullet entry pegged the shoulder blade, stopped there. However, that wasn't the worst of it. Something caused it to shift, rammed it over and deeper. That force cut into a blood vessel and lodged it against the nerve cluster. Doubt that he was conscious very long after that. The combination of blood loss and the agony would have floored even him. The good news is the pain was from the pressure. I know he can move his fingers, he tried to fist me. Now that it's out, he should heal up fine once that swelling goes down. By the time the anesthetic clears from his head in a few hours, he'll be back to his ornery self.”

 

He tied a bandage around the shoulder, Spike didn't even resist. He just lay there breathing slowly, his eyes half open.

 

Mao knelt down. “Spike … can you hear me?”

 

His eyes blinked shut and barely reopening.

 

Mao's heart sank. His questions would have to wait.

 

“There was something else.” The surgeon cleared his throat and handed a small object to Mao. “This was wedged in the wound.”

 

In his palm lay a shard of blood soaked brick from the Skeleton Key's backroom. Mao's heated gaze shifted out toward the other room. He fought to keep his voice level. “Doctor. It seems that Vicious also took a bullet. Would you see to him as well?”

 

Without a word, the surgeon collected a few supplies and left the room. Mao wandered after him. The moment the doctor discarded the tie on the floor, Mao picked it up and confirmed that it was indeed Spike's.

 

Vicious winced as the doctor probed the wound remarking, “Well, there _was_ a bullet. However, someone already removed it and did a swift field dress. I have hardly anything to do.”

 

Mao scowled. _I wonder who did that for you, Vicious? Behind the leg is hardly a place you could have reached. How did Spike end up unconscious after dressing your wound? You were supposed to have his back!_ The tie between his hands nearly tore with the force. He turned and stormed back to Spike's side, laying the tie beside him.

 

“You don't know how sorry I am.” Mao whispered.

 

Spike's eyes cracked open. The words barely found enough breath to be heard. “I'm going to kill him.”

 

Mao's blood froze.

 

*

 

“Hold on.” Ironwall leaned over the map in the meeting house, Mao peered at his side surrounded by the whole group edging to get closer to the map. “How can we be certain that they're still down there, Spike?”

 

Favoring his right arm, Spike reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. He fired up a program and tossed it down on the table. The power read out from the local meter was off the charts. “That answer your question? Some of those pricks are still hiding down there. The fact that they haven't moved means they're either up to something or it's a trap. But I see no reason why the plan won't pay off. If nothing else, when we're finished it leaves them no ground to slither back to.”

 

Ironwall rubbed his chin. “It's risky.”

 

“So is leaving them down there. We need to know that got. They jacked the main tower for who knows how long.”

 

Mao nodded. “Proven to be true by the crew who removed it yesterday, which begs the question of how they did it in the first place.”

 

Jovi scratched his head. “Maybe a drone? It's the only way to get something that high without climbing. But they're bold bastards. I agree with Spike, we need to bag them while we know where they are.”

 

All eyes turned to the shortest man in the room, Mao. “Ironwall, let's take them out. Bring a few back alive to the syndicate chamber for questions.”

 

“Yes sir.” Turning to Spike, Ironwall leaned over the blueprints of the cathedral and underground. “I want you and a couple good shots up here to catch anything that makes it past the flushers. You up to it?”

 

Spike nodded.

 

“Wait!” Vicious limped out if the shadows on a crutch. “You're taking him but I've been ordered to stay here?”

 

Everyone turned to him, Spike's eyes blazed with anger. But it was Ironwall who remarked coldly, “You're lame from injury. He's not. There's a difference.”

 

“Lame?” Vicious snarled. “I am never lame.”

 

Spike spat out, “You're on a crutch, how will you swing a sword with one hand, moron?”

 

Stiffening, Ironwall nearly stepped forward when Mao raised a staying hand to him. The gaze warned him to let this come to pass.

 

Vicious's reply was a scowl.

 

“Perhaps if you'd thought things through in the first place you wouldn't have blown the first strike! But instead it was better to be a glory hog sacrificing your partner, right? Right?”

 

“With a wounded shoulder you'll be a terrible shot.”

 

“A bullet I took shoving your ass out the damn door before we both got strafed! You're lucky we each only took one shot. A shot which I pried out of your leg before you slammed me against the wall!” Spike narrowed his eyes. “I didn't black out that quickly! I heard your scathing remarks as you watched me bleeding out. Part-ner.”

 

“Listen to me—”

 

“You know what I think about listening to you?” Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out the poker chip. With his gun in his left hand, he flipped the chip into the air and fired a shot. The chip spun in a new trajectory, hitting the wall and tumbling into a spin at Vicious's feet. A hole cracked the dead center. Spike glared hard at his stunned reaction. “Screw your opinion, Vicious! Nobody gives a shit what you have to say anymore! Now, I'm going to go clean up the mess you made because you didn't want to listen to me.”

 

Jovi padded over handing a Barrett MRAD sniper rifle to Spike. “Here, you can borrow mine. She's a good shot. With a few quick adjustments you can change it for left handed, if you need.”

 

Slinging the gun over his good shoulder, Spike checked the box magazine and pocketed the spares. Ironwall barked, “Lin and Shin, grab rifles and go with Spike. The rest of you we'll divide in the tunnels when we get there. Let's go.”

 

In a single drove, they dropped down the stairs. Mao lingered, his cold glare fixed on Vicious. “You will do nothing without my permission. And right now that permission will be exceptionally hard to receive.”

 

Vicious met his stare, venom pulsed in his violet eyes. But he remained silent, unreadable.

 

Mao turned and checked his gun clip as he dropped down the stairs, joining the ranks.

 

Abandoned in the meeting house, Vicious watched from the window. Slowly, he limped over to the poker chip and picked it up, fuming.

 

_So, this is how you want it? Fine!_

 


	26. Session 26

_ **Session 26** _

 

Shoulder to shoulder they laid out across the balcony. Colored light from the stained-glass windows splashed across the floor tinting the images through the scopes. Every breath echoed in the stone corridors.

 

Spike's finger rested outside of the trigger guard of the rifle, a cigarette hanging from his tight lips. Beside Spike with his hands braced on his own rifle, Lin glanced at his right shoulder. “Hey, uhh … ?”

 

“What?” Spike grunted.

 

“Did he really … ?”

 

Spike's steely gaze drifted towards him.

 

Swallowing the remaining words, Lin snapped his eyes back to the passageway from the basement. There was no other way out than through the main chapel. A path that would funnel any runners directly into the line of fire. The back door remained blocked by stacked furniture from when the church had closed down.

 

A hushed call from Ironwall over Spike's ear piece lifted his head. _“In position. Entry on my mark. Snipers, the snakes are about to flee the warren.”_

 

“Roger for 'pop goes the weasel',” Spike replied, his finger shifted to rest against the trigger.

 

Shin clenched his jaw. “Do you think Ironwall will get them all?”

 

“I hope not.” Spike narrowed his eyes. “I have a bullet in this baby with a name on it.”

 

Deep in the bowels of the church pockets of gunfire exploded, accompanied by panicked shouts. In the balcony Spike, Lin and Shin all mastered their breathing.

 

Hasty steps echoed up from behind the altar, accompanied by a frantic cry, “I ain't dyin' for this!”

 

The darting Blue Snake, who looked familiar to Spike from his hazy memory, came barreling into the room flanked by a handful of others. Spike exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. In the scope he was rewarded with the explosion of the grunt's kneecap before he went down. “You're right, you get to live long enough to squeal.” Sliding the bolt, Spike ejected the shell with a wry grin. “Sucks to be you, jackass.”

 

Lin and Shin popped off two targets with chest shots. One after another, the victims exited the doorway and skidded to a shocked halt at the bodies piling up plus one man lying on the floor wailing over his knee. In turns, the three Red Dragons played a deadly game of target practice.

 

“ _Clear! They destroyed the computer before we got in.”_

 

Spike remained alert, poised for any last stragglers. “Krait?”

 

“ _No sign of him. You leave anyone breathing?”_

 

“You wanna hear him squeal?” Spike whistled, the man blinked up through his tears and instantly babbled staring down the line of the gun.

 

“ _Right. Stay on guard in case reinforcements were called in. We'll finish up the sweep down here.”_

 

“Roger. Hey Jovi, by the way, I like your rifle.”

 

“ _Hey Hellhound, I want it back!”_

 

*

 

Mao sat in the throne-like chair before the Van. “The interrogation of the three Blue Snakes left alive from the raid came to a clear conclusion. No one would have withheld information under the treatment they received. Krait was not in Tharsis at the time, apparently having departed on business over a week before. We can deduce from what we gathered that those left behind were planning a raid on this tower.”

 

“The threat has been neutralized?” The Van watched him in triplicate.

 

“For now. There are no signs of Blue Snake occupation in the city. We have destroyed any chances of reusing those tunnels again. At the moment there are no leads on Krait's whereabouts. However, since the relocation of our suppliers to the secure facility, there have been no disruptions to our trade. There is little they can do now.”

 

The Van smiled in tandem. “Your men have performed remarkably well. Operation Commander Lee Gates deserves recognition for his expert handling.”

 

Holding his hand to his heart, Mao corrected, “With all respect, the break-through was due to a subordinate's collected intelligence.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Spike Spiegel discovered the transmitter on the side of the building which, when traced, revealed where they were hiding. He provided the schematics to the team that made the extermination raid possible.”

 

The Van looked at one another. “The enforcer with the synthetic eye?”

 

“The same.”

 

“So he continues to prove to be useful. Excellent work, Mao Yenrai. Your initiative in training new recruits is proving wise indeed. Resume regular patrols of the territory for now.”

 

“At the will of the Dragon.” Mao bowed.

 

*

 

In the reddish hue of dusk the river ran like blood under the bridge. Cars thumped across the roadway above. Spike gulped down the last of a beer and slammed the empty can on the walking trail rail amidst a row of others. Shuffling from the railing, Spike slumped down against the wall and reached his right hand under his leather jacket pulling out his Jericho. He rested his right elbow on his bent knee, the left hand hanging slack over his other knee. Staring down the sight, he lined up a can and squeezed the trigger. The can hopped off the railing and spun. Before it could fall he squeezed off another shot, sending it spinning again. This time he pelted a second can before sending a shot back to the first. He juggled the two a few more shots before he missed. The gun muzzle flopped down.

 

“Damn.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. About to line up the next shot, he paused, holding his breath to be certain of what he thought he'd heard. A moment later two men came skidding down the bank, padding rather relaxed toward him.

 

“Heh, there you are.” Shin leaned against the wall, his brother joined him.

 

“Spike, since there haven't been many meetings lately, no one has seen you. You alright?” Lin cocked a brow.

 

Taking in a lungful of smoke, Spike half-hooded his eyes and shrugged. “I'm fine.”

 

The brothers cringed slightly at the dead tone. After a lengthy silence filled only by the chatter of the river, Lin cleared his throat. “How's the … uhh … shoulder doing?”

 

Spike leveled the gun and kicked a can in a series of repeated shots.

 

Lin and Shin both had to pick up their jaws. “I guess … that means it's doing well?”

 

Releasing the spent cartridge, Spike shoved a full one in. “Actions speak a helluva lot louder than words.”

 

“How much amo did you bring?”

 

Leveling the gun again, he snorted. “I didn't come here to look at the view.” Three more cans performed back-flips from the railing.

 

Shin blinked and elbowed his brother, concern marking his features. Lin eyed him and nodded before squatting down. “Spike … are you drunk?”

 

The muzzle of the gun tipped down. Spike blinked slowly. “Probably.” He gestured with the gun at the array of cans. “Needed targets. Figured shooting full ones was a crime. Soo … kinda lost count an hour ago.”

 

Lin took out his gun and flicked the safety off. “Yeah, well it's also a crime to hog a prime shooting gallery. Hey, what do you say we put some odds on who can clear the rail?”

 

Shin shot his brother a dark look.

 

“I don't care either way.” The flat tone alarmed Lin.

 

“Whoa.” Slowly, he lowered his firearm. “You? Not taking a bet? Alright, what the hell is going on?”

 

Spike looked away, but the silence stretched out too long, forcing him to answer. “Nothing I want to talk about. It's for me to work through.”

 

“I knew it.” Lin smacked his own knee. “It's you and Vicious, isn't it!”

 

Spike failed to hide the grimace. Instead of answering, he leveled his gun on a shot … and missed. His head flopped forward.

 

Shin shook his head. “Spike, everyone has dropped by the meeting house but you. Even Vicious has been there, off his crutches he's barely limping now.”

 

“Whatever.” Spike huffed. “Good for his ass.”

 

“It's really bothering you.”

 

“Almost bleeding out while my partner watched? No, not one fuckin' bit!” His fingers twitched against the trigger. _Like to shoot him and watch him writhing on the floor for a while! See how well he takes it!_

 

“Everyone knows.” Lin remarked quietly. “Vicious has taken a lot of flack for that, especially after Mao stopped by the house and took him aside. Wish I had been a fly on that wall. The discussion didn't go well. He went off in a raging storm, after that Ironwall and Mao spoke in private for sometime. You've missed a lot.”

 

Spike opened his eyes and laid his head back, staring at the underside of the bridge. “So let me guess, you guys had orders to give me some space, which means you're disobeying those right now.” They both blushed. Spike made a rude noise. “Shit, there's hope for you yet.”

 

Lin and Shin blinked before chuckling.

 

“Alright, let's set some odds.” He flicked the muzzle of his gun up. “Try to make this fair … ”

 

Lin eyed him, “Can you even stand up straight right now?”

 

“Eh … let's not find out. What do you say, four to one odds? Aim is most cans off the railing, once you miss a shot, turn is over. I'll even go double taps on my round.”

 

“No way!” Lin grinned. “Alright.”

 

Shin groaned. “You're never gonna learn!”

 


	27. Session 27

_ **Session 27** _

 

The plastic chip nearly cut into Vicious's palm. The ridiculous hollowed out token weighed more in his hand than it should. His flesh registered the missing center, pierced by a bullet. _In front of everyone. He made a fool of me in front of them all. Well, no more! No more!_

 

Slamming it on his desk, Vicious snatched up his ringing phone. “Tell me you can do it? … Of course I am good for the payment … I don't need to ask how much … How long will this take? … And you're certain this is where the target has fled to? … Fine. Yes. Let me know when everything is in place.” He hung up the phone.

 

Eyeing the poker chip he snarled, “I'll show you. I'll show everyone!”

 

*

 

Spike kicked a can along the gutter, his eyes drifted up toward the tower. Weeks had passed since anything big had come to call. Though Ironwall had checked in with Spike several times, he continued to utilize Jovi and Kip's team. On reflection, Spike realized his own abysmal folly. All this time he had been waiting for an apology that would never come. The silence would reign unless he made the move to break it.

 

With a sigh, he tucked his hands deeper in his pockets and pushed himself toward the building in the shadow of the tower. _Fine. You made me come to you. Hope you're happy, or as close as you come to that emotion._

 

The elevator opened on the floor of Vicious's office. Spike rapped on the office door. No one answered. Knocking harder he snapped, “Open up, we have to talk!”

 

After another minute passed, Spike pulled out his lock picks. “You wanna play it that way? Fine with me! But I gave you a chance.” In the span of a few seconds the door swung open.

 

Spike strode in casting his eyes over the disarray. Immediately he spied the poker chip on the desk, beside it a series of notes and documents in various drafting phases. He picked one up and stared at the forged record of Mars Army enlisted officer transfer. Underneath, the copy of a syndicate target, hi-level threat info-broker named Trey Stovall. The last page detailed the departure time of a transport ship, to Titan. He glanced at the clock and immediately dashed out the door.

 

As fast as his feet could carry him, Spike tore through the streets nineteen blocks to the ship port. The thunder of the engines punched the air as he rounded the corner, slamming against the chain link fence.

 

“No!”

 

The army transport ship lumbered into the sky. And with it any chance of clearing the air between them.

 

Panting, Spike pounded his fists against the fence. “What are you doing? Vicious! They'll execute you for this!” The ship became little more than a speck of light swallowed by the daylight. Spike pulled out his phone and dialed, dreading the voice on the other end.

 

“ _Spike? What is it?”_ Mao's expression changed the moment the video feed cleared.

 

“Meet me at Vicious's office … there's something you need to see.”

 

*

 

Sitting at the desk, Mao shuffled through the pages and shook his head. “Forging official rank documents to enter the Mars Army in pursuit of a hit not even assigned to him? No. I most certainly did not approve this. He told you nothing of this?”

 

Spike somberly picked up the poker chip and turned it in his hand. “We … we hadn't spoken in weeks. Mao, if the Van find out—”

 

Mao snatched up the papers and straightened them. “This was ordered by me.” He eyed Spike firmly. “Vicious consulted me in private for approval and that is how we will answer any who ask.”

 

“You're going to lie?”

 

“Yes. To protect him, I will claim this was my idea. And Spike, I need your word that you will back me up.” Mao placed his hands on Spike's shoulders. “I understand your hesitation. He has broken his oath to you. I merely ask you to give him a chance to come back into line. Your partner cannot do that if the Van order him executed for his disobedience.”

 

Spike stared into the trusting eyes of his mentor and could not suppress the slow nod. “What … what are we going to do?”

 

“You're going to pretend like Vicious's insertion into the army was planned, and while he is gone I expect you to lead your half of Ironwall's team.”

 

“Mao, are you certain?”

 

“I trust you, my boy. More than anyone, I trust you to do the right thing. For any other wronged as you would not have called me out of concern, but out of revenge. You genuinely wished to stop Vicious from this mistake. There is nothing we can do for him except claim this was sanctioned and hope he will return. Alive and victorious.” He gazed with fear at the Red Dragon Tower. “For we both know the price of failure.”

 

Spike's gaze joined his. Memories of Culvey writhing in his shackles begging for his life played back in his mind.  _No, Vicious wouldn't beg._ That cold stare superimposed into the memory. The same vehement warning he met every challenge with.  _Don't make me stand on that end of the rifle, Vicious._

 

Putting the poker chip into his pocket, Spike followed Mao out of the office. His heart sank. Anger pulsed in his veins, despite being fully heeled, his shoulder ached. Yet, the hurt bored deeper than that. Betrayal, loss … what if Vicious never returned? What if the last he'd ever said to him were those acidic words? Those questions would have to wait for months, maybe even … never.

 

*

 

Veronica glanced up and heaved a sigh. She filled another glass with beer and set it on the bar snatching the empty one. “Seriously, Spike, this is the third night in a row you've haunted my bar, clinging to the rail like it's a life preserver. Ain't you got work or some shit? Don't you dare tell me you're staking out some schmuck here again! I'll mount your head on the wall.”

 

Through the smoke from his cigarette he muttered, “Don't get your panties in a bind. I closed early this morning on the rat bastard.” He flipped out a small stack of cash. “In case you think I'll try skipping out, here. Just keep it flowing and shut your mouth.”

 

She shook her head. “Damn boy. You trying to replace your blood with alcohol?”

 

“Think it'll work?”

 

“Tsh.” She eyed a drunkard literally hanging off the bar. “Does it look like it?”

 

Spike grabbed the beer and downed about half of it.

 

Wiping off the counter, she eyed him. “Can I ask a question and get a serious answer?”

 

“Depends on the question.” He snubbed out the cigarette, taking the glass up and polishing off the remainder of the beer.

 

“How do you do what you do?”

 

“Aim … pull the trigger … make sure there's no pulse.”

 

Veronica planted a hand on her hip. “That's not what I mean, and you know it. How do you deal with it?”

 

Spike pushed the empty glass toward her in answer.

 

She snatched it and shook it at him. “That explains a lot.” The door opened, catching her attention. “Oh great, another one. The usual, Jovi?”

 

“Yeah … thanks.” Jovi replied un-enthusiastically as he took the stool beside Spike. Two beers slid in front of them, foam dripped down the sides. Jovi glanced up at Veronica, flicking his head to the side. She picked up a stack of glasses and drifted into the back room leaving the nearly deserted bar in private. Jovi leaned over his beer. “Heard you had another busy week, Spike.”

 

“Yeah. Easy pickings, though. Inside jobs. None of 'em put up a fight.” He sighed, staring at the bubbles. “You'd think if these guys had the balls to cut and run they'd have more guts. Get 'em at the other end of a bullet and they cry for their mommas. Embarrassing.”

 

Tugging on his collar, Jovi glanced around the room. “Speaking of uhh … cutting and running … is it true? You know, about Vicious? Did he _really_ run off to the Titan?”

 

Spike's hand tightened on the glass.

 

Exhaling a loud breath, Jovi took a moment to stare into his own beer. “Spike … I couldn't tell you this before. You have to understand how much Vicious scares the shit out of everyone.”

 

Spike took a sip of the beer and shrugged. “He has a temper. So do I.”

 

“Yeah. But it's not the same … You're more predictable, takes longer to piss you off. When you are, it's legit.” Jovi swallowed. “If he knew I even suspected … Shit, Spike! I haven't breathed a word of this to anyone and I swore it was gonna crush me carryin' it all this time. He's on Titan by now and I doubt he'll be coming back.”

 

A shot out poker chip appeared in Spike's fingers. He flicked it in a spin on the edge, trapping it with a finger.

 

Recognizing that talisman, Jovi took a deep gulp of his beer, staring at the counter he folded his hands. “The night you lost your eye. I was the first to come through the door. Your gun … it wasn't on the ground, Spike. In your hand I found the blasting cap for the C-4. Your gun was still in its holster.”

 

Spike let the chip stop turning. He stiffened, his pupils flared briefly in the dim lights.

 

“I … I don't know how to tell you this.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Jovi hunched over. “The gun on the ground … was a Colt Commander.”

 

The chip rattled down on the counter released by Spike's fingers. He stared out into space, brows converging into a tight v.

 

Jovi shook his head. “I knew you didn't remember. Ironwall told us you'd blacked out. But I had never seen you handling a Colt, Spike. Not once.”

 

Through clenched teeth he snarled, “That's because Vicious borrowed it from me and never gave it back. All this time—he knew! All this time he said I'd done it! That bastard! He told everyone that it was me! If the war doesn't blow his ass to hell, I will!” Spike's hand gripped the poker chip so hard it snapped in half.

 

Jovi cringed. “I wanted to say something earlier, but I didn't dare! Not when Vicious could reach me in retribution.”

 

Opening his hand, Spike stared at the halves. His breathing gradually slowing. He locked eyes with Jovi. A deadly calm overtaking him. “Let the story stand. Don't tell anyone else. This secret remains between us.”

 

“But why? Spike it makes you look like a fool.”

 

“If Vicious returns from the war **I** will deal with him, in time, on my terms.” He picked up his beer. “I don't want him aware that I know the truth. I want to observe him longer.”

 

Jovi shivered at the icy tone. “Why? I'd think you'd want to clear this up.”

 

“ _If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant._ ” 

 

“Spike … are you saying what I think you are?”

 

Draining the beer glass, Spike flicked half the chip into the bottom of the glass. “He brought this on himself.”

 


	28. Session 28

_ **Session 28** _

 

Shadows punched through the windows of Spike's tenement building. Twisting and turning in his bed, he found no rest in the fevered dreams that had plagued him in the weeks following Vicious's vain folly. Tangled in the sheets, he wrestled with the kaleidoscope of images his mind dredged up.

 

_Staring down the sight of a Beretta at the laughing face of a man. Beside him, Vicious curling his lip with a gun in his hand aimed dead center at the target. The first seductive kiss of adrenalin surged in him. Alive! That fleeting power pulsed within his veins. The initiation into a coursing race that never ends. The trigger pulled. The crack of the tandem gunfire. Laughter cut off in mid-breath …_

 

_Dashing down the dark alleyway, racing against the strides of another. Not just the target ahead, but the other boy. The faster he pushed himself, the higher the competition soared. His pulse thundered in his ears. The shink of a blade drawn from a sheath. The heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. That sadistic smile of victory lurking in the shadows …_

 

Victim after victim ran in a parade, in every moment Vicious dogged his shoulder. Always pushing harder, always reaching higher. Never enough, the hollow hunger leeched into his blood like a serpent's venom.

 

_In the dojo, toeing the line, Vicious grinned locking eyes with him. Savagery burned there … not the eyes of the child he had been. Overshot by the eyes of a predator on the prowl, target in sight …_

 

Writhing and muttering, Spike's hand snaked under his pillow. His fingers wrapped around the grip of his Jericho.

 

_The back of the armored truck. C-4 tapped on the door. The detonator in his hand … **Bang!**_

 

Catapulted out of sleep, Spike held his gun out in front of him, eyes wide. Every beat of his racing heart shifted the gun. Nothing moved in the shadows of his apartment. Just the shadows of the raindrops pelting his window. A flare of lightning split the sky followed by a crash of thunder. He let go of the tension in his arms, dropping them into his lap.

 

“Of all the ridiculous … shit. If I wasn't so tired I'd go shoot the damn weather man.”

 

Shutting his eyes, Spike tried to steady his breathing enough to fall back asleep. The phone vibrated on the make-shift nightstand. He sighed and snatched it up. “Yeah?”

 

“ _Spike. Are you awake?”_ Mao answered firmly.

 

“Sorta … why?”

 

“ _I need to speak with you, urgently. Can you be here in fifteen?”_

 

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, might need a shot of sake to wake me up, though.”

 

“ _I'll get out the bottle. Hurry, Ironwall and I will be waiting.”_

 

*

 

The fire of the strong alcohol burned Spike's throat as it went down, banishing the fog. Mao folded his hands. “I apologize for the early hour. But I confess that I am relieved you brought the _Swordfish_.”

 

Spike glanced at the stiff Ironwall seated on the couch beside Mao. “Alright, what's going on?”

 

“News on Krait's whereabouts.” Ironwall lifted his chin. “Word is an info-broker in Reykholt knows where he's gone. Worse than that, he's brokering a deal with the White Tiger syndicate to sell Krait's stolen intel from our tower.”

 

“Shit, what is it with info brokers lately? Do we know the nature of the intel?”

 

“No. But it can't happen.” Ironwall tensed his fist. “If he managed to get the layout of the building we could have a breach from a more powerful syndicate than the Blue Snakes. In the meantime, we've warned the Van, they are taking safe command in the mother ship as we speak.”

 

Spike poured another shot of the sake and downed it. “Who else knows about this?”

 

“No one, at this point. This includes the enemy being unaware of our interception. The plan is a surgical strike.”

 

Mao lifted a hand toward Ironwall. “If Ironwall leaves Tharsis they will grow suspicious. However Spike, you regularly depart on drug runs for me. Your behavior won't trigger any alerts, if they even bother to track you.”

 

“You want me to go to Reykholt and drag this info-broker back here?”

 

“No.” Ironwall furrowed his brow. “We want you to go there, extract the info from the broker, then nail Krait's ass to the floor. Take a small team with you. Get this done without drawing attention to it.”

 

“Full service, huh?” Spike cracked his neck. “Alright. What's the timeline?”

 

“Now.” Ironwall sent a file to Spike's phone. “This is all we have on the guy, codename Songbird. Take off tonight. Who do you want me to send in as backup? I'll get them to you.”

 

Standing up, Spike lit a cigarette. “Lin and Shin should be adequate.”

 

“You sure you want to rely on young bloods? They'll be your only backup.”

 

He glanced at Mao. “Just takin' a page out of the master book. I'll send word once I touch down. Let the hunt begin.”

 

*

 

Against the horizon a streak of light blazed against the black. Mao and Ironwall watched the _Swordfish's_ comet trail rise out of Tharsis.

 

“Mao, are you certain we've made the right choice?”

 

He nodded. “Spike has been in a slump lately. Not surprising considering the two were at odds before Vicious left without so much as a word. Too much left unsaid, and no way of saying it. He needed a distraction, one that gives him the latitude to think on his own. The smaller jobs were not enough. Besides,” Mao grasped his hands behind his back, “there is a vendetta in this strike. One of Spike's early contacts was murdered by Krait's men.”

 

Ironwall cocked his head. “Wait a moment … are you telling me that bar? The one Spike purchased after the fire? The Skeleton Key?”

 

Mao nodded. “The moment Krait is in a room with Spike will be his reckoning.”

 


	29. Session 29

_ **Session 29** _

 

“ **That's** your plan?” Lin balked, buttoning his suit jacket over a dark-red collared shirt.

 

Spike's knee peeked through the frayed hole of an old pair of jeans, his ratty t-shirt only half tucked in looked like the seams might give at any moment. He glanced around the corner of the restaurant, holding his phone just out of his worn jacket pocket, the garish daylight picked out all the scuffs and scratches in the leather. “Yeah, but you gotta sell it. Can you?”

 

“Are you crazy? What if I flatten you!” Clapping a hand over his mouth, Lin rapidly backpedaled. “Shit! I didn't mean to call a superior _crazy_.”

 

“Whatever.” Spike held up a hand. “First of all, that won't happen. Second, if you did manage to, that would be convincing, right? Just aim and don't hold back, I'll take care of the rest. Remember, you **have** to leave a mark.”

 

Lin scratched his head. “Doesn't that leave you at a disadvantage?”

 

“That's the idea. Look at me, Lin. No one would buy a twenty-year old crime boss. So this is our only option. I've been tailing him for two days now. He won't expect this.”

 

“Because this is absolutely the worst idea I can imagine.” Lin slicked his hair back. “Alright. You're the one calling the shots. But, I seriously don't get you. ”

 

Spike handed him the Jericho. “Take this with you. And don't lose it, I like that gun.”

 

Pocketing it, Lin's eyes widened, “You're going in unarmed?”

 

“I'm never unarmed. One last thing, don't loose track of the beacon. I'll get pissed if I don't have backup when this finally goes down.”

 

“What's the signal that you need us?”

 

“How about yelling 'get your asses in here,' that work for you?”

 

Lin smirked.

 

Static broke over the phone. Shin's hushed voice crackled out, _“Whatever you two are going to do, get ready. He's on his way out.”_

 

“Copy.” Spike picked up a duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder.

 

As he was about to stride out from the alleyway, Lin grabbed Spike's arm. “Are you sure about this?”

 

“Don't make me give you an incentive. Now, come on.” Spike stormed out of the alley, glancing over to the front door of the restaurant as it opened. A short man with a black goatee dressed in a pinstriped suit walked out flanked my two burly men. _Bingo._ Spike flicked three fingers on his hidden side. A second later he heard Lin's racing footsteps.

 

He snatched the bag and started a tug of war as Spike hung on for dear life. Lin shouted, “Lazy-ass Red Dragon!”

 

“Let go!” Spike held tight, his shoes scrapping across the pavement. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Songbird holding a staying hand to his goons. _We got his attention. Do it, Lin!_

 

“This will serve you right for being late!” Lin gritted his teeth, drew back his right fist and delivered a hard cross hook.

 

The fist slammed into a collision course towards Spike's right eye. Turning his head along with the blow, he resisted the urge to dodge and instead rolled with it. The momentum twisted his body into a limp fall, leaving him sprawled out on his chest.

 

Lin hardly paused. Bag in hand, he dashed down the street. Through a cracked eyelid, Spike watched his retreat. _Run, Lin! Don't let them catch you._

 

Footsteps approached behind him, not past him. Spike suppressed a sigh of relief as the shadows fell over him. He lay perfectly still, the throb of the growing bruise heating his eye. A foot nudged his shoulder. Spike moaned softly, shifting his fingers up to cover his already swelling eyelid.

 

Two pairs of strong hands gripped his shoulders and wrenched him to his feet. Spike hung slack in their arms, trying to stand on his own and failing miserably. “The … bag … the delivery … where is it?”

 

Songbird offered a sympathetic smile. “Oh dear, you mean the bag that man who hit you ran off with?”

 

“No!” Spike broke the hold of the goons and instantly tumbled into the wall holding his eye with a hiss. “No! Oh shit! They're gonna kill me if I don't come back … if I come back without the money or the delivery—I'm a dead man!”

 

“Easy now.” Songbird placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm a friend of the Red Dragons. Come with me. Let me help you.”

 

“You will?” Spike tried to grip his hand, but missed, practically falling forward.

 

The goons grabbed his slumped body as Songbird snapped his fingers. “Certainly. Always happy to strike a deal. My friends will help you along. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

 

“A bit sick, kinda dizzy.” He hung his head.

 

“Aww, perhaps you have a bit of a concussion. Poor boy. Does this happen often?”

 

“Yeah. A lot lately. Sucks being a delivery boy. Ask me, it ain't worth it.”

 

“Delivery boy?” Songbird rubbed his chin. “And does this mean that you know where the warehouses are?”

 

Spike sniffled. “Course … I just … I really wanna lie down now … my head … it hurts.”

 

“Let's go see to that, shall we?” Songbird snapped his fingers and the goons carried Spike off with them.

 

*

 

The abandoned factory echoed every slap of Songbird's shoes as he paced the floor victoriously. This shoddy place wasn't his primary business office. That office was in a respectable building downtown. One couldn't be too careful with one's reputation. Not everyone was aware of his _secret auctions_ , and this building always served as the perfect blackout place for the auction block.

 

He grinned over at the newest addition to his catalog. The Red Dragon delivery boy lay slumped on his side where he had been dragged. By now his right eye had turned a dark shade of purple, swelling shut against the floor. Out cold, he hadn't moved over the hour since Songbird's men had cuffed his right wrist to a metal ladder rung welded to the wall to keep the merchandise from wandering off.

 

“How cheap is the price of loyalty?” he mused aloud to himself, studying the unfortunate wretch who had crossed his path. “What is the price of a life? We will soon see how valuable you are. The only question is whether to bundle you with the stolen information or hock you as a separate item? Of course, I could simply extract everything you know and sell that instead.” His grunts cracked their knuckles. “Hrm, so many options.”

 

Songbird rolled his fingers in thought, grinning. The screen on his computer flashed, he hit the key and faced it. “Ahhh, just the call I was waiting for.”

 

On the screen, a blue-eyed blond man in a business suit glared back. _“What is this I heard about a new item?”_

 

“Oh, just a little something I picked up off the streets.”

 

“ _Tell me.”_

 

Songbird leaned closer to the screen, blocking any chance of a sneak peak. “If you'd like a preview I can arrange it. Trust me, it's worth it. I might even interest you in a bundled arrangement with a cut of the profits.”

 

The man lifted an eyebrow.  _“Bundle? What are you talking about? How can you possibly offer more than the stolen intelligence?”_

 

“When would you like to stop by and find out?”

 

“ _Be there in a half hour. This better be good!”_

 

The screen went dark. Songbird laughed at the unconscious Dragon. “You, my boy, are a rare item for my block. I usually don't deal in pounds of flesh. However, if there is one thing I've learned, there is a price for everything. How shall we list you? An atlas or a reference manual, perhaps?”

 

*

 

Shin glanced up from the tracker on his phone at the cracked factory windows, filmed over from years of disuse. He crept up to the side of the building and kept his voice hushed, “This has to be it. The beacon shifts rapidly. He's right inside that room.” 

 

Crouching beside him, Lin massaged his bruised knuckles.

 

“You seriously hit him?” Shin glanced at the purple blotches.

 

“Yeah, he insisted on it, the crazy bastard. Told me not to pull the punch. The way he went down, shit, I think I hit him too hard. And you know where? He insisted it be his right eye.”

 

“What?” Straightening up, Shin grabbed his shoulders. “You didn't really do it, did you?”

 

Lin bowed his head and nodded.

 

Shin frantically searched the panes of glass. “Hope we don't have to report to Ironwall that you killed Spike.”

 

“I was under orders.”

 

Peering through a crack in the glass, Shin cringed. “Well then, I hope you have a recording of that for your trial … this doesn't look good.”

 

Lin pushed him aside and pressed up against the glass. He spied Spike sprawled on his side, his wrist cuffed to the wall. The dark bruise over his eye pressed against the floor. Inhaling sharply, Lin backed up. “I swear I didn't mean to—”

 

Shin grabbed his shoulders and yanked his brother behind a stack of old pallets. A second later several men strode by, eyes deadlocked in front of them. A burly man in a suit pounded on the door with a sneer. The moment the door opened he barked, “Songbird, this better not be some cheap trinket you have to sell.”

 

“Oh, you give me such little faith. Let him in, boys, he is our expected guest.”

 

Crawling back to the window, Lin and Shin both tried to peer through at the same time. A brief flash of light caught Shin's attention. Spike's left eye blinked shut, his brow furrowed. Not in pain, but frustration. Both brothers held their breath, watching as the businessman entered out of Spike's line of sight.

 

“Did he … you don't think he planned this?” Shin whispered.

 

Lin glanced at his bruised knuckles. “The guy's completely lost his orbit. But if this works, I'll never question him again.”

 


	30. Session 30

_ **Session 30** _

 

The pounding on the door rousted one of the grunts from his seat. Sprawled on the floor, Spike tried to catch a glimpse through cracking his left eyelid, but the man moved behind his shoulder. He would have to roll over, blowing an hour-and-a-half of feigned unconsciousness. Silently he cursed the angle he had been dragged to. Of course, things could have been worse. At least he was in the same room as the marks and the idiots already confirmed the deal hadn't taken place yet. Saved him interrogations later. The only other question was how close Lin and Shin were.

 

A gravelly voice barked, “Songbird, this better not be some cheap trinket you have to sell.”

 

“Oh, you give me such little faith. Let him in, boys, he is our expected guest.”

 

Best he could tell there were now six henchmen combined, not counting Songbird and the new arrival. Not that he couldn't take them all, it would just prove trickier without back-up. Thankfully, no one had found the tracker he'd concealed underneath a bandage around his ankle. A little bit of nondescript reddish goo seeping out and nobody would want to take a look-see, even if they had checked. As it was, the pat-down had been laughable.

 

Songbird's chair squealed as he turned it. “You truly should be honored. I often don't allow previews of the merchandise. But this truly is a special circumstance.”

 

“Cut to the chase.”

 

_Oh?_ Spike fought to suppress a laugh.  _But you just got here. Nah, not yet. Don't want to spoil the fun._

 

“Songbird, I'm in no mood for your ridiculous speeches. I hired you to make this deal, not to swindle me.”

 

“But I'm not swindling you. If anything you could call this _value added._ The only question is how to package it.”

 

“Package what?”

 

Every fiber of Spike's being longed to turn and get a good look at the speaker. Bad luck that all the metal surfaces around him had been tarnished with age. The distance of the voices told him they were across the room. Too far.

 

“Eh? Who the hell is that?”

 

Footsteps crossed the floor. Two sets. Songbird's smile betrayed itself in his voice. “A Red Dragon syndicate courier.”

 

A brief inhale. “Are you certain? How did you get your hands on him?”

 

“Admittedly, he is a bit _damaged_. A suit ambushed and decked him hard, before running off with his delivery. But he muttered enough before blacking out. He's the real deal. Couple that with the schematics you already dangled in front of the Tigers and the bid will drive up, exponentially.”

 

“What will this cost me?”

 

“Oh, that depends on how you want to do this. Do we offer him wholesale, or split the package and check the contents?”

 

The crack of knuckles rent the air. Spike kept his eyes loosely shut, his breathing even.

 

“Well, he is damaged goods. Since it means the future execution of more of those bastards, then I think cracking him wide open makes the most sense.”

 

“What do you have against them?”

 

“Eh? The Red Dragons? Well, that info will cost you.” A toe nudged Spike's bent knee. “Wake up.”

 

With a groan, Spike burrowed deeper, bringing his left arm over his face.

 

“I said wake up!”

 

A kick to Spike's hip rolled him onto his back. Spike opened his left eye staring in a daze at the industrial ceiling. A burly mug creased by a toothy grin observed him through blue eyes. Bright blonde hair slicked back tight against his skull, not even moving as he bowed his head for a better look.

 

Folding his arms, the man glared down. “Damn, Songbird, when you said damaged you weren't kidding. So, kid, you have a profession I might be interested in.”

 

“Wha?” Spike tugged on the metal cuff as though he'd discovered it for the first time, his eyes drifted to the restraint on his right wrist. “What's going on? The guy … the guy said he … oooowww, my head.”

 

“Your head is the least of your problems, Red Dragon. You're going to tell me about the shipment routes.”

 

Shifting his gaze around, Spike spotted Songbird leaning back against a pillar. “Hey, that's the guy. Dude, what's going on? I need some ice, or something, the room's still spinnin'.”

 

The blonde man narrowed his eyes and reached down, grabbing Spike's threadbare shirt and practically tearing it. “Listen you little shit, answer me or I'll make you wish you were never born!”

 

Directly in front of his open left eye, Spike gazed at the tattoo on the back of the man's left hand. Two blue dice, each with a single dot. _Krait._ “Oh look what we have here.” Flicking the picked cuff off the ladder rung, Spike caught the open metal loop in his right hand and gripped it. Make-shift brass knuckles. “Snake eyes!”

 

In a dead punch he nailed the shocked Krait on the bridge of his nose. Propelled by the strike, Krait toppled backward, out cold.

 

Spike rolled into a shoulder stand, rocking back onto his feet. Opening both eyes he dove for the nearest grunt, before anyone could recover from the shock, and shoulder pressed him against the wall. The glass windows exploded with a single shot, Lin materialized behind the frosted barrier, his bullet pegging a grunt rushing for Spike's back. The grunt flopped forward.

 

Spike grinned as Lin and Shin leapt into the chaotic foray, guns in hand. Lin shouted, “Here!” and tossed the Jericho from his left hand.

 

Catching the gun, Spike swung it in an arc toward the fleeing Songbird attempting to use his goons as cover. One shot kicked down a grunt. Cleared, Spike shifted the aim down Songbird's body and targeted the back of his knee. Spike grinned wildly, “Target acquired.” He pumped the trigger.

 

Songbird dropped mid-stride, wailing as he held his leg.

 

Only three remained standing, all Red Dragons. Spike pointed to Shin, “Check the computer, find the file.” He jerked a hand toward Lin, “Make sure we're the only things with a pulse here.”

 

Lin stiffly nodded, taking care not to glimpse Spike's eye. There was no time for that now, work was calling.

 

Immediately, Spike spat out his lock pick and jimmied the cuff still locked on his wrist, pocketing them with a plan. Striding across the room, he grabbed Songbird and dragged him to the chair ramming him against it despite his cries of pain. He grabbed a bit of bailing wire and tied him thoroughly in place.

 

Songbird recovered enough of his senses to blink around at the dead bodies of the grunts before staring up at Spike. “You're no delivery boy.”

 

“Now you got a clue? What gave it away?” Spike sinched the final knot tight, and locked eyes with him.

 

Panic invaded Songbird's gaze. “Oh shit! Your eyes … you're the Hellhound!”

 

Spike grinned crookedly. “Nice, you've heard of me. Well, no sense in going through lengthy monologues and all that. Now, you stay put while I make your pal comfortable. By the way, thanks for calling my  _real_ target here. Made it so much easier.”

 

Songbird's blubbering continued while Spike grabbed Krait by the neck and dragged him across the floor. Slapping the cuffs on him, Spike placed the chain over a hook and winched him up off the floor. Without a word, he started to rifle through Krait's pockets for their contents. Phone, keys, wallet, a knife, a handgun with several clips.

 

Footsteps precluded Lin's approach. “We're alone.”

 

Spike nodded, “Right, scope this place out. Let me know what we have to play with.”

 

“Along the lines of?”

 

“Equipment, chemicals, flammable shit, anything we can use for disposal purposes.” Spike palmed Krait's knife and approached Songbird.

 

“Wait a minute … ” Songbird stuttered, flicking his eyes back and forth. “Wait, I know I saw **him** hit **you**! I'm sure that was the guy.”

 

With a sly grin, Spike glanced at Lin, who immediately bowed his head. “I admit it, Spike, you were right. He never saw it coming.” He turned away, weaving through the ramshackled equipment.

 

Tapping the knife on Songbird's arm, Spike watched Shin's skilled fingers breaking into the computer. “Well you know what, buddy? You tell me what you had before he breaks it out and I'll make this fast. On the other hand, if I have to wait, you'll hang around and share Krait's fate. Trust me. You really don't want that.”

 

His mouth moved but nothing intelligible came out.

 

“Got it, Spike.” Shin stood up a straight. “Whoa! Good thing we intercepted.”

 

“Time's up. Tough luck for you.” Drifting to the computer, Spike narrowed his eyes, ignoring Shin's nervous glance at his bruise. “Damn. The schematics for the entire tower, including the security codes, and the capos' addresses.”

 

“Enough to effectively cripple us in the right hands. And look at this, they sent a teaser packet to the White Tigers.”

 

“Hrm, not enough to be acted on. But still, I'd hate to be in security. They're gonna need to revamp after this. Alright, pack this up. We'll take the machine with us.” Spike flicked the knife tip toward Songbird, relishing his cringe. “I take it aside from this, you didn't send out anything else, you greedy bastard?”

 

“No! It was only copy in existence! Sending more would have lowered the bid price.”

 

“Thought so.” While Shin packed up the computer, Spike rifled through the grunts' pockets, clearing them out into a pile on the floor.

 

A few moments passed before Lin pointed over his shoulder. “Most of the equipment is in shambles. But there are some large tanks filled with various chemicals. The best intact hold the components for what looks like epoxy resin.”

 

Spike mused. “Epoxy resin? Well now, that could work. Did you bring my duffle?”

 

“Of course.” Lin tossed it at Spike.

 

“Alright, you know what to do with these guys. Leave nothing that can ID them. I'll go prep the finale.” He darted in-between the vats until he spied the two interconnected by a third mixing tank. Rapping a knuckle on the side of the empty mixing tank he listened to the echo. Above, a large hook hung down. “Well now. This will do nicely.”

 

*

 

The fluids churned under the mixing arm. An intermittent groan from the machinery spoke of how little time it had left before breaking.

 

“I hope it holds out long enough.” Spike wiped his sweaty brow and stripped off his jacket, tossing it to the floor from the top of the vat. Lighting a cigarette he leaned on the railing watching the waves of heat rising from below.

 

“Please, don't do this.” Songbird whimpered, his entire torso bound in bailing wire and suspended from the hook beside the twitching body of Krait. Spike had left the latter hanging by the cuffs. “I don't even understand what you're doing. Epoxy?”

 

“Oh really?” Glancing up, Spike nudged the body of last of the grunts closer to the edge. “Should we see if it's ready? You do know how much heat epoxy resin produces when it cures, right?” He pushed the body over the edge to join the rest of them. The moment the corpse hit the thick fluid, it sank in with a hiss.

 

Songbird struggled. “No!”

 

The motions cracked open Krait's eyes, setting him mumbling. “What the hell … ? Songbird? What's going on?” He followed the panicked gaze toward Spike, who waved from the railing.

 

“Yo, look who woke up in time for the party.”

 

Groggily, Krait tried to blink the sweat from dripping into his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

 

Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, Spike eyed him. “Well, you did cut a party short. Only fair we continue it to the end. You know, for posterity.”

 

“Krait.” Songbird jerked as much as he could in his bonds. “Don't get him angry. Don't you know who he is?”

 

“Should I care?”

 

“Yes! That's the Hellhound.”

 

Spike grinned at the short intake of breath. Clearly Krait had also caught the rumors. “Not your lucky day, pal. You've been a slippery bastard. One I killed to get my hands on.”

 

Krait locked eyes with Spike. “So, you weren't some courier punk.”

 

“Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't do syndicate runs for extra cash. But no, that isn't my day job. Turns out I'm here on official duty. Which sucks for you. I don't really give a shit what you got against my syndicate. I mean motive doesn't make a bit of difference. The act of jerking us around was enough. That cathedral trap? Nice touch, but it failed to keep us down.” Spike stiffened a fist. “Even I draw the line when at targeting a civilian bar that had nothing to do with it. That's just cold. I admit, I kill without a thought, but I don't just go for mindless slaughter.”

 

“The jazz bar in Tharsis?”

 

Spike nodded, a dark expression in his eyes.

 

Krait laughed. “The fool of an owner saw too much.”

 

“No.” He leaned over the vat a bit further. “You were sloppy. Someone woulda screwed up that bad in my syndicate? Word never would have gotten out. His ass would have been smoked before he had a chance to think about 'cleaning it up'. Looks like I get to do that for your syndicate.”

 

From down on the floor, Lin and Shin called up, “Everything's loaded. We're clear.”

 

“Be right down. Just need to finish up.” Spike gripped a chain dangling over the vat and crawled up it arm over arm, the cigarette burning in his mouth.

 

“What are you doing?” Songbird cried. “Are you insane?”

 

Reaching the point above the captives, Spike tucked the cigarette into the folds of the greased rope securing the hook above the vat. Even before he slid down the chain back to the platform, the rope had already caught on fire. Tongues of orange reflected on the fluid in the vat.

 

“You're going to preserve us in resin?” Songbird thrashed. “What happened to everything being untraceable?”

 

Spike held up a remote, flicking a glance at the bottom of the vat. “This should do it. Well, at least if the timers don't work, only then do I have to _actually_ push the button. Enjoy your bath.” Dropping down the stairs wrapping the huge vat, Spike glanced at over at Lin and Shin, “You guys hungry? My treat, I'm pretty sure the payout on this will be nice.” He bent down and retrieved his jacket.

 

“Shouldn't we wait to make sure?” Shin asked as they pulled the large loading door shut.

 

“I'm not about to miss the bonfire. This won't take more than five minutes.”

 

From a safe distance, Spike and company watched the growing flames inside the building. “By the way, you guys know epoxy resin is flammable while it's curing, right?”

 

“I don't even want to know how you learned that.” Shin cringed.

 

**BAWOOOOM!**

 

Spike's eyes reflected the incineration. “Promise fulfilled, Dizzy.”

 


	31. Session 31

_ **Session 31** _

 

Smoke billowed up from the collapsing shell of a building, images flickering on the screen. _“Breaking news from Reykholt, an intense fire incinerated an abandoned factory. Firefighters spent most of the night battling the inferno. The cause is yet unknown. Investigations into the identities of the victims found within are yet to be concluded. Local officials believe them to be squatters, potentially responsible for the tragic accident … ”_

 

In Mao's living room, Ironwall and Mao shifted their gazes to their company seated on the couch. The twins sat rigidly side by side, their eyes locked on the pilfered computer in front of Mao. Meanwhile, Spike reclined on the couch, by now his right eye nearly swollen shut under a blackened bruise. Fully relaxed, he took a long drag from the cigarette.

 

“What can I say? That was unconventional.” Ironwall shook his head. “Spike, I believe your orders were to be discreet?”

 

He shrugged. “Yeah. You heard the news. Trust me, I built something special for that place. Drove the temps up enough to melt the steel tanks. They won't get an ID on any of the bodies. Just piles of ashes. We grabbed anything that might give authorities a hand in IDing.” His foot tapped a bag on the floor. “So the only part we have to worry about is the confirmation that the White Tigers have us in their sights now.”

 

Rubbing his chin, Ironwall glanced at Lin's bruised knuckles. The moment he did, Lin shifted his hand to cover them. Ironwall narrowed his eyes. “Say, that's one helluva shiner you gave Spike.”

 

Lin tensed. “Sir, I swear I … ”

 

“Relax.” Spike chuckled. “I already told him when I was on my way back in the _Swordfish_.”

 

His jaw hung slack.

 

“Seriously, that was a damn smooth right cross hook you got there, Lin. If I hadn't been prepared and rolled with it, you would have done to me what I did to Krait.” Spike put a hand on his shoulder. “I ordered you to leave a mark, and you did that in spades.”

 

“But … why your right eye?”

 

He laughed. “Songbird was an info broker. I would have placed a solid bet that he'd heard about my surgery. Turns out I nailed those odds. I needed an excuse to keep it shut or he would have figured out the trap from the first glance.”

 

“Not to mention,” Ironwall crossed his arms, “what proud ass enforcer is going to let a subordinate deck him for a ruse. Damn, that took solid steel balls. That could have gone all kinds of wrong directions.”

 

“Could'a.” Spike winked his left eye. “Didn't.”

 

“You would not have dared to do that to me.”

 

Spike flexed a hand. “You never asked me to.”

 

Pushing the computer back, Mao folded his arms. “This information is disconcerting. I will need to take this before the Van as soon as possible. If it had gone any further we'd all be in danger. That said, I must commend you three on the tactics. The results are impressive. You make an astounding team.”

 

“Of course,” Ironwall flicked a glance at Spike, “it leaves me down a man.”

 

Spike smirked. “Are you kidding? It's noth—yoow!”

 

Annie grabbed Spike's hair and yanked his head back, slamming a bag of ice on his eye. “You cocky ass idiot!”

 

Everyone in the room cringed. Lin and Shin backed away.

 

“Damn it, Annie!” Spike snapped, his head still wrenched back by her white-knuckled grip. “While ice is good for swelling, throwing it isn't! I think you made it worse.”

 

“Annie.” Mao raised his voice. “He's here on business.”

 

“Always business. Well, serves your ass right. What were you thinking?” She punched Spike's shoulder before storming off.

 

Releasing a long sigh, Spike rolled his eye to Mao. “Hey, you gonna remind her again why I can't live out here anymore?”

 

The twins balked wide-eyed at Mao.

 

“I know what you're thinking.” Spike held up a relaxed hand to them, the other pressed the ice bag to his black eye. “Don't read too much into that. I don't mean here as in his mansion. The dorms are just a stone's throw from here. I stayed there while I was in training. Before a wild rumor starts, no I'm not a blooded member of the Yenrai clan. Just a recruit taken off the streets.”

 

Mao's stern gaze followed his niece. “But you were the one who gave her attention.”

 

“Yeah, well, she was lonely out here and I'd been bored. So, it worked at the time. I just never thought she'd get so pissed about me not visiting here often enough. I can't do my job from here.” He sighed.

 

“You are well acquainted with my niece's fiery nature.” Mao shifted his half hooded gaze to Spike. “Do you honestly think any words from me will get her off your back?”

 

“No. That would take a crowbar.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. “Fine, I'll talk to her before I take off, or next time it might be something heavier than an ice bag she throws at me.”

 

*

 

Annie heaved a stone, skipping it across the water as Spike meandered to the bank with his hands in his pockets. He cocked a slight grin at the stream of invectives issuing from her.

 

“Hey, you're stealing my lines.”

 

At his voice she spun around, red blotches on her cheeks, a stone in her palm. Her hair was a mess.

 

He held up a hand. “Alright, let's not get carried away I came down to say I'm so—”

 

His words cut off in a grunt as Annie stomped on his foot.

 

Forced to step back, he grimaced. “Damn it! You are determined to make sure I remember this, aren't you.”

 

“Pain seems to be the only way to reach your brain, asshole!” She launched the stone into the water, it sank instead of skipped. When he didn't reply with a sarcastic remark she eventually was forced to look back over her shoulder. Spike could only see her with his left eye. The other completely swollen shut now. Ducking in shame, she turned back to the water. “Did I … do that?”

 

“Well, you certainly finished the job.” He gave a tight laugh. “S'ok though. I think it was going there anyway.” Without another word, he sat down and rested his arms on crooked knees.

 

After a few minutes in silence, Annie sat down beside him an arm's length away. Her fingers traced the long grass blowing in the breeze. “I miss the old days.”

 

“Yah. Growing up kinda sucks.” His eyes followed a small flock of water fowl drifting on the current. “Never thought I would ever have this much responsibility. Least not when I was snot-nosed kid skipping stones just to impress the boss's niece.”

 

“You never have time anymore.” She tugged on her shirtsleeves.

 

He sighed. “Can't help it. Things have been insane lately. We've stopped one syndicate from invading our territory and now I'll be on lookout for another. These are critical times and all this got rather dumped on me.” His hand tightened. “I can't spend a lot of time idling when there is a potential threat to your uncle.”

 

Her eyes trembled for a moment before closing. “You're doing this for Mao?”

 

“Of course. You have to understand how much I owe him.”

 

“For stealing your life?”

 

Spike lowered his head. “Annie, am I ever going to convince you without taking you to the crater I was born in? You really don't get how much of a dead-end I faced. There I never would have amounted to anything more than a cheap hustler until the day I screwed up and got offed by some two-bit schmuck. That was my fate until Mao gave me the chance to actually be something.”

 

She closed her eyes. “A killer waiting to become a corpse.”

 

He reached for her shoulder and hauled her over, grinding his knuckles into her head as she squirmed. “I'm not gonna go through that whole dire dreck again. So drop it already. I think I've proven it's gonna take more than a single bullet to bury my ass for good.”

 

When he released her she combed her tangled hair with her fingers and laughed. “Alright, fine. Have it your way. You always win anyway.”

 

He grinned crookedly, the expression more comical with his blackened eye.

 

They sat watching the sparkling water for some time. At last, Annie broke the silence, “I want nothing to do with Mao's business. And I refuse to live on his charity.”

 

For a moment Spike was about to rebuke her, insulted that she might have inferred he was a charity case. But her eyes burned with determination stealing any reply he considered.

 

“You'll see. Give me a few months and I'll take the first step on my path away from this blood soaked charity.”

 

He squeezed her shoulder. “Good for you.”

 


	32. Session 32

_ **Session 32** _

 

Spike walked past the open shipping truck with his eyes widening. Pulling out his phone he double checked the address confirming this was it. A moment later, Annie dropped out of the back of the truck burdened by a stack of boxes. As she turned, her eyes caught Spike and she beamed at him. “What do you think? Told yah, give me a few months, but I did it in two. Here it is. My way out.”

 

“A general store?” He scratched the side if his head, following her inside the cozy corner building.

 

“The building's been on the market for a while. And the best part is, it's all clean money.” She positively glowed setting the boxes on the counter. Opening them up, she started to stock the cigarettes behind the counter.

 

“Well, if that's what you want to do with yourself, Annie.” He turned and padded back out the door only to return a few moments later with a stack of boxes. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Annie's frown growing to a silent grin the moment he set them down on the counter and went back out for more. Over countless trips, Spike hauled in the stock as Annie organized it. “Hey,” he broke the long silence, “don't think for a moment that you're gonna turn me into a stock boy. I got a day job, you know.”

 

She chuckled. “Don't let me catch you paging through the adult magazines.”

 

He raised an eyebrow, slipping a gaze toward the rack. “Oh?”

 

With a grunt, she threw a can at him. He caught it without even looking. “Nice catch. Now, I'm serious. I'm in your territory. I expect to see you once in a while.”

 

Sauntering to the counter, he slouched on one elbow and grinned down at her. “I suppose I need a place to stock up on smokes now and again.” He kept her gaze locked on his while he took a five finger discount on a couple packs. His phone vibrated. Pulling it out, he blinked at the message. “Aww shit. I'm late. Supposed to met the guys down at Maroon's for a round of pool.”

 

Annie rammed her fist on her hip and scowled.

 

“I'll stop back, I promise!”

 

*

 

Lin shook is head. “Damn it, I'm gonna get buried again. Come on. I don't have another woolong to my name.”

 

Spike leaned over the table and lined up the cue. “Then it looks like you're going hungry til the next payday.” He snicked the ball and sent it into the eight ball. Carried on its path, it collided with the seven and sent it off in a tangent. Loosing a bit of speed, the eight hung back as the seven dropped into the side pocket. With just enough momentum the eight ball slipped into the corner pocket.

 

“Shit. Well … that's that.” He hung his head as Shin rubbed his shoulder. Shin's eyes flicked off to Spike's right.

 

He reached into the pockets and started to plunk out the balls back onto the table. “Wanna go again?” Meanwhile, he concealed a glance as two men got up from the booth and started toward the door.

 

“I can't do it unless we play strip-pool and I think that would get us in trouble with the owner.”

 

“Oh, I dunno.” Shin eyed one of the waitresses blushing every time she spied Spike. “I think some would find it rewarding.”

 

Lin picked at his own shirt. “Sure, only if winning shots required removal. No one want's to see me streakin'.”

 

The door shut with a jingling bell.

 

Alone, save for the staff, Spike plucked out his phone. “Ironwall. I'll be calling Mao right after this. Guess who showed up at Maroon's.”

 

“ _Who?”_

 

“Just spent about an hour eavesdropping on two White Tigers. They're in the city and they have a plan to go after the syndicate.”

 

“ _When? And who do you have with you for back-up?”_

 

“Within the hour. Lin and Shin are here. We're nowhere near enough. I can tell you where they are going, but you're not going to like it. I only see one way out of this. Hope Mao is ready to toe the line.”

 

“ _You have my attention.”_

 

*

 

The ship doors opened giving Felix Cortez his first street level view of Tharsis. Through the tight corridor of the shorter buildings he spied the rise of the majestic hexagonal tower. The polished tooth of the Red Dragon's mark, the bite hold that controlled all of Mars. Now, it was within his reach. Tugging on his cream, pinstriped jacket, the White Tiger capo flashed a gold toothed grin. He adjusted the midnight blue tie at his neck and waved a hand to one of his scouts. The moment the man joined him at the bottom of the ship's ramp he inclined his chin. “Is everything ready for our surprise?”

 

The scout nodded his head and pointed out at the squads of men armed to the teeth. “The boys are all here. Like we says, boss, this here's the best corridor to reach the tower. From this angle the Dragons won't have seen the drop ship, and even if they did, this here is a regular shipping point.” His foot touched the shoulder of a corpse clad in overalls. “Hehe, sorry, _was_ a shipping point.”

 

“Excellent.” Cracking his knuckles, Cortez laughed. “Tonight we will mark our territory. Mars is ours for the taking.”

 

The men cheered and pumped fists in the air.

 

“We will not be returning home!” Cortez padded toward their ranks. “We will make Tharsis our new home, built on the bones of the Red Dragon corpses we leave behind. This empire is all but ours.”

 

The ship's ramp closed. Slowly the engines whined as it lumbered into the air behind his back.

 

Spreading his arms wide, Cortez declared, “While the Dragon slumbers, the Tiger sharpens his claws on its hide! Let the blood flow!”

 

A fiery trail split the dark sky from a rooftop. The brilliant arc of light raced toward the departing ship. Frozen in time, Cortez leaned his head back and turned as the miniature comet impaled the departing ship directly into its main engine. An immense fireball banished the darkness as the entire back end of the ship disintegrated. The remainder shook the ground as it came down, cleaving a huge rent across the landing field before the stunned eyes of his men.

 

Speechless, all the capo could do was stare. That ship had brought them here. It was their only lifeline back to the rest of the White Tiger syndicate. There one moment, gone the next.

 

A melodic whistle caught his attention. Cortez spun on his heel and faced the dark alley beside the field now swarmed with armed men. Not his men. His heart rammed in his throat. He took a step back, closer to his petrified team waiting for a command.

 

At the front of this unexpected swarm, two men in particular caught his attention. A broad shouldered man in a weathered duster stood with his arms crossed. At his side, dressed in a trench coat over his tailored suit, a slender young man with a fierce eye cracked his knuckles. It was this one who broke the tense silence. “Thought we'd throw you guys a little party. Welcome to the Red Dragon's city.”

 

Cortez gaped and grabbed the scout by the shoulder before he could dart off. “What is … ? How … ?”

 

The broad Red Dragon bellowed out with a voice that shook the buildings, “Light 'em up, Boys!”

 

A second later the White Tigers made a run for the corridor toward the tower, the only avenue of escape afforded to them. Cortez dashed into the center of the ranks, whispering to himself, “Protect me! This can't be happening! How did they know we were coming?”

 

*

 

“ _Breaking news in Tharsis. Residents are warned to remain inside their buildings. A riot has broken out, spreading through various blocks including residential areas. Local police suspect the involvement of crime syndicates, but are unable to effectively suppress the incident at this time. There are reports of heavy gunfire and even the use of illegal military arms. Once again, residents are warned not to go outside until further notice.”_

 

*

 

Spike cracked a grin the second Cortez turned and ran into the fold of his men. “Oh Ironwall, looks like he's going for the bait.”

 

“Heh. Yup.” Ironwall tapped his phone. “Mao, you're about to get some company.”

 

“ _The trap is set. Beat them our way.”_

 

“Don't need to hear that twice.” Flashing a grin, Spike took off kicking at the heels of the Tigers. His own men closed in, forming a solid barrier in case anyone decided to try and make a run for it. There was no way out. All they left behind were the battered corpses of Tigers, thrown to the ground by the violent attacks of the Dragons.

 

Ironwall threw his head back and roared as he dashed into a gap in the barrier, plowing through the terrified enemy who only offered a pitiful resistance. Gunfire, grenades, a few high powered weapons. Jam packed in the corridor they did more damage to themselves and to the buildings then they did to their assailants.

 

Blood slicked the pavement beneath the pounding feet. It sounded like so many more. But the Tigers never had a moment to count the Dragons pursuing them. Ironwall's squad alone commanded the turf. Spike's men with half of Jovi and Kip's crew, while the remainder lay in wait with Mao for the other shoe to drop. They were hardly an army, and yet the corridor amplified their strengths.

 

They didn't have long to wait. In a sudden rush the front of the line collided in the middle as they tried to flee back the other direction.

 

Spike laughed over his shoulder at Ironwall, his fist delivering a concussion to a lackey. “Hey, didn't they want to take on the tower? Wonder what changed their minds?”

 

The sound of automatic machine gunfire thumping into bodies echoed off the buildings.

 

“Ah. That must be Mao.” Ironwall threw a man, impaling him on a piece of rebar from chunk of building exposed by a grenade explosion.

 

“Hope he saves some of the fun for us!” Spike sent a target flying with a straight kick. One after another, they mowed down the higher numbered ranks of the Tigers leaving behind a wake of destruction.

 

With only a handful remaining, Cortez tried to make a frantic run for it. Spike tripped one of the lackey's into his path. Cortez tumbled over him, coming up pale-faced as he scrambled to find his footing.

 

Leaping onto his back, Spike locked him into a firm grapple, snickering as Cortez pounded impotent fists against Spike's locked arm around his throat. “Please!” He croaked, “Let me go! I'm not important.”

 

“Sure. You're just all dressed up and no place to go, right?” Spike shifted his foot as Cortez tried to break free again. “Trust me, I'm using the nice grip at the moment. Keep it up … ohh? You really want to do this? Ok!” Spike grabbed his wrist and yanked it across his back, hard.

 

“Ahhh!” screamed Cortez.

 

“Told yah. Now, stay still and wait for this to end. You see, you get to watch it all before your turn.”

 

“What?” Wide-eyed, Cortez stared out at the assassination of his men. One after another dropped to the ground, lifeless. Until at last, he alone breathed. Around him, Dragons gathered in a circle and grinned.

 

Through the group, Mao Yenrai's diminutive form pushed through. A rifle in his hands. “Capo Felix Cortez of the White Tigers. Are you taking leave of your senses?”

 

Spike couldn't help but laugh. “You have to ask? Just look at this guy, doubt he ever had them to leave behind!”

 

“Yo—you … ” Cortez babbled, “you killed all my men. All of them.”

 

“Yes.” Mao replied sternly, the rifle at his side. “You forfeited their lives the moment you set foot in our territory. You will be an example of the wrath of the Dragon.” He gestured to Spike.

 

Adjusting his grip, Spike forced Cortez's chest down onto the pavement. Using a knee on his shoulder, Spike trapped him there. He locked eyes with Mao and nodded.

 

Mao came up over Cortez's shoulder, the barrel of the gun parallel to Spike's trapping stance.

 

Cortez struggled and cried. “No! There will be retribution for this!” The metal barrel pressed against the back of his skull, it moved as he shook his head.

 

“I doubt that.” Mao took a breath and pulled the trigger. One moment Cortez screamed, the next echoed with the thud akin to the sound of melon struck by a sledgehammer. A blast of crimson streaked the pavement in a wave.

 

Spike climbed to his feet and clapped a hand on Mao's shoulder. “Nice trophy hunting.”

 

Mao ruffled his hair. “I had an excellent guide.” He gazed at the group of Dragons. Barely a loss, hardly more than scrapes and cuts on the bunch. “To our victory!”

 

Voices rose into a chorus. In the center of the cheering mass, Spike belatedly realized what they were chanting. “Hellhound! Hellhound! Hellhound!”

 

Over the com, Jovi's voice broke through. _“Hey Spike, I like your RPG launcher.”_

 

He laughed. “Yo, Jovi. I want that back from you. You have no idea what I had to do to get my hands on that toy. Though I have to admit, that was a nice shot.”

 

“ _Thanks!”_

 


	33. Session 33

_ **Session 33** _

 

Sunlight gleamed off the water as Mao strolled through his garden, smiling contentedly. What a glorious summer day. He leaned against the balustrade and gazed through the dojo windows with pride. Two figures sparred inside with great abandon. Two styles he knew all too well and never tired of watching. Over the past few weeks he had many opportunities. In the lull, Spike often dropped by to hone his skills against Leonard's practiced limbs.

 

And a grand lull there had been! With both the Blue Snakes and White Tigers left licking their wounds, the Red Dragon's reign continued unchecked. Mao puffed his chest out. After all, it was his own enforcers responsible for both strikes, something he had made certain to present to the Van. Not a day passed without at least one request for a transfer into Ironwall's crew. Rumors had spread like wildfire about Spike's successful runs. He had gained the respect of the vast majority of the Dragons, not a simple feat. Today was the day that would be rewarded. Mao rocked back and forth on his heels in anticipation. What better day for the commencement than Spike's twenty-second birthday?

 

As though the distant figure could hear him, Mao raised his glass toward the dojo. “Happy birthday, Spike.”

 

“Truly, that's today? I had neglected to bring him a gift.”

 

Mao stiffened. That voice. Icy cold, inflectionless … even more more so than before. Slowly he turned to peer into Vicious's violet eyes. He stood in the doorway, straight-backed with his hand on the hilt of his katana. Unlike before, his full attire resembled a distinct military flare down to his syndicate rank jacket. Whole, not a single visible scar marked him. But the war had been a whetstone to his air. A shiver ran down Mao's spine as he met that venomous glare.

 

Vicious strode forward. “I bring a gift for you instead.” He held out a file and a small box.

 

Opening it carefully, Mao discovered a set of dog tags. _Trey Stovall_ , the mark he'd gone after. Wordlessly, Mao opened the file and read through it. Every frigid word of Vicious's hunt through the battlefields on Titan meticulously spelled out on the pages. The 'accident' that parted Stovall's head from his body. The abuse of his stolen rank used to frame other men for his actions. And at long last, the dispatching of his soldier persona as he cast off the facade, mission complete with a wake of devastation left behind.

 

Expectantly, Vicious stared with this chin inclined at Mao through the file. “How many would have taken things this far in pursuit of their prey?”

 

Dry-mouthed, Mao had set the items aside and took a drink before he could even speak. “None that I can think of … Vicious, how long have you been back?”

 

“I arrived this morning. No one was aware of my movements by design.”

 

The fact that Vicious had remained loosely at attention unnerved Mao more than anything. The capo's eyes kept straying to the hand gripping the sword hilt. “It is … it is good to have you back again.” He forced a smile.

 

Vicious narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly toward the distant shadows of Spike and Leonard. “I trust that I have not missed much.”

 

“You would be incorrect. In your absence Spike took command of team.”

 

“I see he's back in training. An injury? Punishment for making another mess of things?”

 

“On the contrary.” Mao paused, choosing his words carefully. “He is here to upkeep his skills as there has been little call for them of late.”

 

Vicious's eyebrow rose.

 

“Call it … the after effect of quelling two syndicate's attempts on our territory.” Letting the smile reach his face, Mao raised his glass. “Your partner's reputation has only grown before the eyes of the Dragon while you chased your glory on distant horizons.”

 

It did not escape Mao's observation that Vicious's knuckles turned white around the hilt of the katana.

 

“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Mao locked eyes with him, smiling warmly against the venomous glare.

 

“Tsh.” Turning on his heel, Vicious replied, “It has been a long trip. I need to clean up first.”

 

The moment he was alone, Mao pulled out his phone and dialed it swiftly. Dread soaked him. There was only way around this now. He had no choice. But if the Van refused, what would he do?

 

*

 

Spike mounted the garden steps, his hair still damp from the post-workout shower. There was no doubt, Leonard hadn't pulled his punches at all in the dojo, and that had felt great. Striding across the patio, he wandered up to Mao leaning on the railing. The grin faded on Spike's face when he noted the tension of his capo's body.

 

“Mao?”

 

He practically jumped, paler than normal, he flicked a glance inside the house.

 

Spike cocked his head, nearly reaching for his gun. “What is it?”

 

Holding up his hands, Mao placed one on Spike's forearm. “This wasn't the surprise I had planned for your birthday … but … ” He lowered his eyes.

 

Following the gaze, Spike caught the file and the box, open with the dog tags. He inhaled sharply, but didn't say a word.

 

Mao held up his index finger. “I promise you. I have already fixed this. It is now but an alteration in plans.”

 

A shadow darkened the doorway. Spike bristled at the presence even before he glanced up, doing his damnedest to remain slouched. He offered a half-hooded stare at Vicious without bating an eyelash. “Done playing soldier-boy?”

 

“I wasn't playing at anything.” Cold, almost dead came the reply.

 

Two could play at that. Spike didn't rise to the challenge. Like the the river's surface, he let his tone remain flat and smooth. “Coulda fooled anyone with that. If you'd really gone off to war, you would have enlisted rather then snuck into the ranks.”

 

“Why would I let some gun-totting savage order me around when I know I am better than any of the lot? Only a grunt like you would have permitted that.”

 

Spike folded his arms. “I wouldn't've bothered. War's not my thing. Nor is being cast as a wardog. Clearly that roll suits your blood lust. Kinda surprised you didn't stay on Titan to lap up more.”

 

Stepping between them, Mao held out his hands. “No more of this today. Come, or we will be late.”

 

With one last loaded glare, the two broke it off. Shoulder to shoulder they followed Mao, their eyes stealing glances the whole time.

 

*

 

It had been ages since the high council chamber had been crowded to the point of bursting. Everyone had arrived for the ceremony planned over a month ago. Only things had changed in a heartbeat.

 

Mao's trembling eyes beheld the two men kneeling before the council as the Van spoke. Spike and Vicious both wore the military style jackets, this time the rank braid marking them senior officers bringing them in line with the likes of Ironwall. After today, they would each command their own teams, separated from one another.

 

From his angle at their shoulders, Mao glimpsed Spike's relaxed posture. Not a front at all. This promotion, though it honored Spike, changed little in his eyes. He accepted it with a bowed head, hands folded before him.

 

Vicious was another matter. Tension racked his frame, his fingers clawed into the backs of his folded hands. Hard eyes glared at the ground before him, painfully avoiding his right where Spike knelt. Mao knew this honor had been one of Vicious's goals, and yet like a rabid beast he foamed at the mouth. Leonard's warning rang in his ears … the two side-by-side, now separated.

 

His heart pounded against his ribs. Had he made the right call? He couldn't have by conscience called off Spike's promotion. He had earned it in spades with his service, if Mao was honest, it was long overdue. There had never been a team controlled by two officers. He shuddered to think of the fallout that would have occurred had he not convinced the Van about Vicious's promotion as well. He could not place Spike above Vicious. This was the only possible solution, and yet as he observed his potential heirs to his kingdom, a feeling of dread overcame Mao. The first mistaken shogi move into a trap.

 

“At the will of the Dragon.” Spike and Vicious replied in unison. The ceremony had nearly passed Mao by.

 

“Arise and be recognized for your merits.” The Van lifted their hands as one.

 

Slowly, they each stood. Spike in that lazy slouch of his, sporting a crooked grin. Vicious uncoiled, his cold eyes like a viper the moment he gazed at Spike. About to stride forward just in case, Mao was shocked when a second later the expression vanished. Replaced by cool indifference, Vicious tugged on his rank braid and strode out of the room, passing by any who extended a hand of congratulations.

 

Spike, in mid handshake with Ironwall, craned his neck and watched the display. Within Mao's earshot Spike muttered to Ironwall, “Guess he wanted the podium to himself. Whatever.”

 

“Watch your back.” Ironwall patted his shoulder. “There's something different about him now. Deadlier.”

 

“I'm no fool.” Flashing a grin, Spike spread his hands wide. “None of us can outrun death forever. So when it comes I'll be waiting with a full mag.”

 

_I'm sorry, Spike. I should've stopped this when I had a chance._ Mao came up beside Spike and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “The day goes to he who never surrenders. Truly, Spike, this day belongs to you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See You Space Cowboy


End file.
